


Esoteric

by TheSunshinePoet



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Ace of Clubs - Freeform, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Violence, Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, BUT FOR NOW LETS DO IT, Barista Mark Tuan, Bodyguard Hoseok, Bodyguard Namjoon, Bottom Park Jimin, Car Accident, Car Chases, Cat Cafés, Chase down a mountain, Childhood Friends, Cipher and Puzzles, Clan Heir! Jeon Jungkook, Clan Heir! Kwon Hyuk, Cryptology, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Emotional Abuse, Eventual Smut, Ex Bodyguard/House of Cards Leader/Sharpshooter Min Yoongi, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Secrets, Friends to Enemies, Gun Violence, Gun play, House of Cards Crime Organization, Hurts So Good, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have so many tags??, It's adventure time!, Jack of Diamonds/Thief Kim Taehyung, Kim Namjoon is a Genius, Kim Namjoon | RM & Min Yoongi | Suga Are Best Friends, Kim Seokjin | Jin Is a Tease, King of Hearts Min Yoongi, Knife fights, Let's Play a Game, Librarian Kim Seokjin, Lost family fortune, M/M, Maybe some fluff if we're lucky, Min Yoongi | Suga Is Whipped, More characters to be added, Nothing is at it seems, Oral Sex, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Queen of Hearts/Assassin Park Jimin, Rough Sex, Secret Entrances, Secret hiding spots, Secrets, Seokjin is a genius, Sex Toys, Sex in a Car, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Stream of Consciousness, There will probably more if I'm being honest, Threats of Violence, Top Min Yoongi | Suga, Treasure Hunting, Verbal Abuse, Violent Thoughts, lots and lots of angst, ok for real lets do it tho, pay attention, this is gonna kill me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-04-18 20:03:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14220738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSunshinePoet/pseuds/TheSunshinePoet
Summary: Esoteric.es·o·ter·icˌesəˈterikadjectiveintended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people with a specialized knowledge or interest.A battle of wits.Of skill.Of body and mind.They'll look at the clues.Follow the map.Discover themselves and each other.Secrets unveiled and friendships tested.They'll risk it all for the ones they love.They'll find the treasure.Or they'll die trying._________________________________Namjoon is a special agent and bodyguard to Jeon Clan Heir, Jeon Jungkook, who has inherited a family secret after the death of his grandfather. A long lost treasure and the clues to find it, but the race is on with Jungkook's brother having hired House of Cards. The deadly crime organization is brought in to find the treasure first, and won't let anything stand in their way. Along with his partner Hoseok, can Namjoon beat the odds and wind up richer than his wildest dreams? Or will the reappearance of his past cause him to throw the mission?





	1. Metanoia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey demons it's me ya girl. @KingofGaysMYG on Twitter  
> This fic has literally been three months in development, along with continuous research and planning. This took me a while to get done but here it is! This will have a lot of violence, action, sex, and angst so please be warned. This will be a wild ride with lots of plot twists. You're seriously not even ready.  
> I'm not even ready.
> 
> Comments and Kudos keep fic writers alive kiddos! If I get asked about updates I'll put major character death at the end so don't do it :')  
> \--  
> Don't trust anyone.  
> Everything you think you know?  
> It's a lie.

**Esoteric**

  


_ If you could only see _

_ What’s hidden there _

_ It’d all make sense _

_ And maybe it’d _

_ Be okay _

  
  


There comes a time in every person's life where you just  _ know. _

  


You know that something insanely incredible is going to happen, and whether that moment will be good or bad you don’t know. But the moment is there, you can feel it. It burns inside you, tugs at your heartstrings, whispers into your ear and fills your thoughts until it’s either the greatest or most terrible moment of your life. Or both simultaneously. 

  
  
  
  


_ Seoul, South Korea _

  


It burns. 

  


The way the alcohol sears it’s way down Namjoon’s throat as he sits at his desk, pouring over all of his notes from a recent incident. The words blur together, vision tinting black at the edges as he tries to force himself to focus on the sentences, some redacted and others just stating complete bullshit that he’s already read about or heard about on the news. The glass of expensive whiskey draws him back in, and he lifts the glass to his lips to take another swig of the bitter liquid. He hates this. The way every day seems to blur together. The fancy parties, the intense flashing of cameras as he walks dutifully behind Jungkook. He hates it. Hates the flashes and the shouting, not Jungkook.

  


No, Namjoon loves that kid. He can be trouble but at the young age of twenty-five, who isn't when they’ve got the world laid at their feet?  Namjoon had been with the young man since the beginning, ever since he had graduated college and gone into the military. They’d graduated together (Jungkook having been one of the smartest kids in the Jeon family since his great-grandfather, Wonho) and entered the service together, serving side by side until they were discharged to return to their families. 

There’s not a moment he hasn’t served someone other than himself. Not that he would have it any other way. Namjoon and his family have known the Jeons for years, decades even. They are even in business together. In fact, they are involved in each other’s lives so much that it is surprising that no one has married into the other’s family. It is a bond, one that pushes the boundaries of being related by blood. Jungkook is, as Jungkook would put it,  _ ‘a brother from another mother.’ _

  


It isn’t about duty.

  


It is about respect.

  


About love.

  


Namjoon had vowed to protect Jungkook until his dying breath when he’d joined Bangtan Secret Service, the protection agency that the Jeon family receive protection assets from. 

  


Namjoon appreciates everything that his young friend’s family has done for them. For him. He has wanted for nothing in life. If he ever needed a shoulder to cry on, Jungkook was always there, though he didn’t always know what was going on as he was so much younger than Namjoon. 

  


_ Fucking hell.  _

  


Footsteps sound, echoing off the stone hallway outside his room. They are quick as if someone is walking a bit too fast but doesn’t want to run. Out of instinct, his hand goes to the gun beside his glass, fingers curling easily over the grip and lifting it to aim at the door. In bursts a wild, red-haired man. He is dressed in all black, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to reveal intricate floral and nature tattoos. A cigarette hangs loosely from his lips as he stands in the doorway, just staring at Namjoon with a blank expression, clearly unamused by the gun pointed at him.

  


“Are you fucking kidding me, Hoseok?”

  


Hoseok breaks out into a heart-shaped grin, taking his cigarette from his mouth and blowing the smoke in a white cloud.

  


“W’sup, Joonie? Little early for morning drinking isn’t it? Then again, after the party last night I’m not surprised,” Hoseok chuckles as he shoves a tattooed hand through his hair.

  


Hoseok was always so carefree, and yesterday had been no different, even though they were on duty. He’d almost escalated the incident, causing Jungkook to panic slightly. But, luckily enough for Namjoon, the redhead had calmed down after they got out of the public eye.

  


Namjoon flashes a dark look at his partner, staring purposefully at him as he downs the rest of his alcohol.

  


“Are you really in the position to judge me for morning drinking Hoseok? How many have you had this morning?” he sneers, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

  


It’s always like this. Tense. Irritating. There’s something in the morning air that causes them to butt heads, though it more often than not ends with one of them laughing. 

  


Usually Hoseok.

  


“No, I’m not. And I’ve already had two, so… Catch up, bitch,” the younger man snickers, turning his gaze to the massive bay window along the wall closest to the desk before going back to observe the way the morning light spills across the floor.

  


The room is simple. A queen size bed with black and grey silk sheets and a massive dark blue comforter. The furniture is constructed mostly of black wood. There’s a dresser against the far wall, an entertainment center opposite the bed, a large, flat-screen TV, a few standing lamps, and a massive desk with filing cabinets on either side. Last but not least, next to the door to the walk-in closet, stands a massive case that holds all of Namjoons guns, knives, and various weapons. It is a collection he was proud of and every evening, when the sunlight shines through the window as it disappears over the horizon, the freshly polished metal shines like diamonds. It is quite the sight to behold if you ask Namjoon. Or Hoseok.

  


_ Or Yoongi. _

  


There’s a moment where Namjoon only stares at his coworker, pushing his tongue against his cheek before he finally downs the last of his whiskey. He swishes the liquid around his mouth, feeling the slight burn before he lets it sear its way down his throat. He tips the glass toward Hoseok, pursing his lips before he’s focusing back on his paperwork. 

  


The red-haired menace moves, despite his obvious lack of desire to talk, leaning against the dark wood of his desk to look over his shoulder and push long fingers through the stack of papers. “Joon. Hey, we gotta talk about what happened last night.” 

  


Namjoon would rather choke on a hand grenade.

  


He sighs, plucking the folder with the previous night’s date hastily scrawled across the top in Hoseok's chicken scratch, flipping it open and grabbing a pen to sign his name across the bottom. “There’s nothing to talk about. What happened happened and there’s not really anything we can do. Hyuk got what he wanted. He made Jungkook look like like a fool in front of the rest of his family. Just because he is the oldest doesn’t mean that he can shame him like that.” 

  


That seems to only irritate Hoseok as he huffs, shaking his head with a soft snicker at what Namjoon assumes is the memory of last night. They share a look. It had indeed been annoying and quite troublesome. The guy couldn’t even wait several days, least of all several hours, to cause a scene. The eldest brother of the Jeon family, Jeon Hyukwon, is an art student at one of Seoul’s most prestigious art schools. He was also one of the biggest partiers in the family, spending thousands of dollars at clubs and sleeping away his college tuition. There was little he could do, though partying, sleeping around, and art seemed to be the few things he could actually do  _ correctly. _ But apparently, ruining a funeral could be added to that list.

  


_ It’s not the future  _

_ You are afraid of _

_ It’s repeating the past _

_ That makes you  _

_ Anxious _

  


_ The Previous Night _

  


_ Namjoon adjusted his tie, the bright light causing a pounding headache against his skull as he stared in the bathroom mirror. Hoseok stood beside him, smoothing a hand down the front of his crisp, white dress shirt. They look sharp, designer suits courtesy of the Jeon family. Whenever there is a new event they are presented with new, specially-tailored suits, and the funeral of the late Jeon Bo-Rhee is no different. It’s slightly tense, with the man in question having been the last holder of the office to the Jeon Secret Fortune. The long lost treasure had yet to be found, and clues were still being discovered several hundred years later. The collection of which resided in the grandfather's manor in Venice, Italy. The old man chose to hide everything away in an old house surrounded mostly by water and dedicated his life to finding it. Now, with the old man gone, the entire family was anxious as to where the horde of information would go. Who it would pass to. _

  


_ The sound of a toilet flushing gained their attention and they turned at the same moment. It was almost comical how easily they fell in sync as Jungkook emerged from the stall, adjusting the fly of his pants before smoothing a hand down his front. The man was a picture of grace, the harsh light of the bathroom doing almost nothing to dampen his elegance as the young man stared at himself in the mirror.  _

  


_ “Well boys, how do I look?” Jungkook asked quietly and stood a little straighter. _

  


_ “You look fine. Don’t worry about it,” Namjoon tilted his chin in acknowledgment, reaching up to fix a strand of hair that had fallen out of Jungkook’s perfectly quaffed style.  _

  


_ Namjoon’s own sandy brown hair was styled out of his face, accentuating his sharp features that were framed with professional-looking wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like someone in the crowd, just another face among the sea of features that crowded the floor outside.  But there was a difference between himself and the others out enjoying the party. Namjoon was carrying two Glock g17 gen5 9mm semi-automatic pistols. _

  


_ Hoseok, on the other hand, had the sleeves of his expensive white button up rolled to his elbows, exhibiting the tattoos that decorated his tanned skin. The straps of his shoulder holsters were on full display, along with the matching glocks. His red hair was a tousled mess atop his head, strands in disarray from him shoving his hand through the fiery locks. The way he carried himself was cocky, a lopsided grin plastered on his face as he reached a hand up and roughly slapped Jungkook on the back. “Yeah, man! You look perfect! How will anyone resist such an international playboy? You’re such a looker.” _

  


_ Jungkook’s lips tilted at the edges with the faintest hint of a smile, glancing down at the water disappearing into the sink as he washed his hands. Namjoon thought Jungkook seemed almost unfocused, pulling out of the conversation. Hoseok threw out a joke, laughing loudly at his own humor, but neither of them was listening. Namjoon was focusing his attention on the young man. He settled a strong hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  _

  


_ Jungkook and his grandfather were close, and Jungkook had always taken an interest in the missing Jeon fortune. Namjoon loved watching his young friend’s face light up when his grandfather solved another riddle and discovered another location, always encouraging the elder to ‘Keep going, grandpa! You’ll find it! I’ll help you, too!’ Namjoon found it heartwarming since he had never been close to much of his family, having always been more focused on studies and training rather than making friends. _

  


_ But now, Jungkook was off his game. The solemn look on his face, as if he were a million miles away, pulled at Namjoons heartstrings. “Kook-” _

  


_ The young man hummed softly as he turned off the water, and turned towards Namjoon. The older could see the smile was forced when he finally managed it. “We need to go.” _

  


_ \--- _

  


_ “Fuck you old man!”  _

  


_ As soon as the trio stepped out of the bathroom, shouting and loud noises swarmed over them in an unpleasant cacophony of sound. Namjoons brows furrowed as he turned to Hoseok, who just shrugged nonchalantly as they quickly ushered Jungkook through the crowd. It was like moving through a whirling sea, people pushing and shoving in order to get a better view. He almost lost Jungkook when someone cut them off, but he was quick to retrieve the young heir with a few terrifying looks for the onlookers to move and allow the man to pass through.  _

  


_ “What’s happening?” Jungkook whisper-yelled as Namjoon wrapped an arm around his shoulder and elbowed his way into the clearing that had formed near the edge of the massive dining hall. Namjoon was about to answer, when they finally break free of the crowd, revealing broken vases and trays of food scattered across the floor. They shared a puzzled look before movement gained their attention. They watched in horror as Jungkook's older brother, Hyukwon, vandalized the massive portrait of their grandfather that hung on the wall. The safe that lays behind it was state of the art, and only their late grandfather knew the password. Not that it stopped the older man from trying to pry it open, cursing drunkenly and yelling obscenities at the metal offender. _

  


_ “I’m not sure, sir.” Namjoon reached for the cuffs at his belt, watching as the drunken man pounded at the safe with his fists. Hoseok stood just off to the right of Jungkook, snickering to himself and shaking his head. It wasn’t a humorous time, but Hoseok had always been one to find drunken shenanigans hilarious so he must have been enjoying the display. Music still blasted out of the speakers but, for the most part, the conversation had died down as people stared at the spectacle. It was bad for business, bad for the image of the clan. “Hoseok, stop laughing.” _

  


_ The man blinked back at him, scrunching his nose before he flipped Namjoon off and disappeared towards the side of the crowd while reaching for his own pair of handcuffs. Namjoon stared, his lips twisting as his brows furrowed before he felt a hand gently tug at his jacket sleeve. _

  


_ It was Jungkook, staring up at him with an apologetic smile on his face. “Let me try and calm him down first, okay? He’s upset. He loved grandpa, too.” _

  


_ Namjoon was about to object, mind flicking through all the terrible scenarios that could occur in the span of minutes. Hyukwon is a bit taller than Jungkook, more muscular and bulky too. But after a moment he sighed and nodded softly, shrugging out of the younger man's grip in order to step to the side and allow him by. “Alright. If he lays a hand on you, me and Hoseok are stepping in.” _

  


_ This seemed to satisfy Jungkook, who smiled vibrantly up at him, bunny teeth on full display. The young man muttered a ‘thanks hyung’ before he stepped from the shelter of the crowd and into the empty space. _

  


_ Namjoon watched closely as Jungkook stepped over broken bits of glass and smooshed food, careful not to soil his finely polished shoes. It was like walking through the aftermath of a cafeteria food fight, but Jungkook didn’t even falter in his steps until he was clear of the debris and stood behind his brother. Hyukwon was too involved in his own drunken rampage to notice, having turned from the safe to the many bouquets of flowers lining the walls. He was tearing through them, pulling out the intricate arrangements and tossing them aside.  _

  


_ It was like he was searching for something, though what Hyukwon could possibly be looking for Namjoon had no- “Where the fuck is the Cryptex? I know that asshole hid it here! He had to of!” _

  


_ Jungkook reached out as his brother went to toss another vase onto the floor and send another couple thousand dollars down the drain. His strong hand curled around Hyukwon’s wrist and pulled the vase away with his free hand. The elder stared at Jungkook in disdain, brows furrowing as his lips pulled back from his teeth in a hideous sneer. “Hyuk, I think it’s time you calm down. You’re drunk.” _

  
  


_ Namjoon’s heart leapt into his chest as he watched the elder jerk away from Jungkook, knocking the vase from his hand in the process and sending it crashing to pieces anyway. There was a shift in the air and on the man's face that turned to something darker. Menacing.  _

  


_ “‘Hut the fuck up, Kook. ‘Dunno whatcha talkin’ about.” he slurred, stepping toward the young heir. He was puffing himself up, trying to be intimidating, but Namjoon knew Jungkook wouldn’t respond to the threat. His brother was trying to start a fight, but Jungkook wouldn’t give in to his taunting, even as the man pressed his large hands against his chest and pushed him backward. “You're a piece of work, Jungkook. The  _ perfect _ son. Fuck you.” _

  


_ Jungkook stumbled slightly with the force of the gesture, almost falling back onto the dirty floor. “Hyuk, I am not. Can you just take a breath and we’ll-” _

  


_ He didn’t get to finish the sentence before his brother’s fist collided with the sharp line of his jaw, jerking his head back and causing him to finally fall. There was a split second of panic before Namjoon’s instincts kicked him into high gear. Movement, like a fish breaking the glass calm water in a massive splash, came in the form of Hoseok breaking through the crowd. Hyukwon’s college buddies were moving through the crowd as well, and they came to a head around the two men. Namjoon was by Jungkook’s side in a moment, strong arms enveloping him in an embrace as he pulled him up and edged the younger to stand behind him. _

  


_ There was a moment where Hyukwon looked ready to charge at his brother, but his friends pulled him off and away. Hoseok was standing with his hand on his gun and one hand out toward the small crowd of men.  _

  


_ “Fuck you! He’s a fuckin’ pussy! That fortune is mine!” Hyukwon spat at them, struggling in the grip of two burly men in varsity jackets. There was spittle hanging off his lip, his eyes wild and hair in disarray from the chaos he’d caused.  _

  


_ Hoseok, despite the obvious smirk that was plastered to his face and the way his body was shaking from holding back his laughter, was all seriousness when he finally spoke. “Now now, why don’t you just take a break, huh? You’ve had a bit too much to drink. That’s clearly your brother. I’d wonder if you’ve actually seen pussy since you’re this dimwitted!” _

  


_ Namjoon’s breath hitched at Hoseok’s extremely inappropriate comment as Hyukwon lunged from his friends toward Hoseok, who was quick to coo and step out of reach. The man cracked a heart-shaped smile and laughed loudly at the threatening look he was given.“Better luck next time, bunny boy.” _

  


_ The golden shine _

_ That reflects in  _

_ Your eyes _

_ Is a direct reflection _

_ Of the beauty _

_ That is your _

_ Heart _

  


Namjoon snaps the folder closed, reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sighs heavily. The image of dragging Jungkook back to that brightly lit bathroom, of forcing the young heir to sit up on the counter while Hoseok grabbed the first aid kit off the wall. Blood, a dark crimson staining their clothes as they did their best to pull sharp glass and bits of contaminated food from his hands. A wave of discomfort crashes over Namjoon and he finally turns back towards Hoseok, pushing the folder against Hoseoks chest as he slowly stands from the warm comfort of his deluxe office chair. There’s an imprint of his body in the cushion of it from how long he’s been sitting. “Don’t say it, Seok.”

  


“You’ve got a bubble butt, Joon, and now your chair does, too.”

  


_ Fucking-  _ “You’re so fucking weird.”

  


Hoseok laughs and tosses the folder back onto the desk, sending the neat stacks of papers into disarray as he moves away so Namjoon can retrieve his freshly washed suit jacket and get ready for the day. The freshly polished pistols lay over the immaculate black suit jacket. It smells of cedarwood and mint, a scent that’s all Namjoon and partially from the new laundry soap they’d been trying out as he pulls it on over the soft cream dress shirt he’s wearing. The pistols quickly follow, clipped into place in the shoulder holsters and inconspicuously hidden from view. 

  


When he finally turns back to Hoseok, the man’s gaze is lowered, but quickly lifts into a smirk as he raises a brow at Namjoons questioning look. “What? You’ve got a bubble butt! Am I not allowed to stare? Come on!”

  


Namjoon narrows his eyes at the man as he walks towards the door, shouldering him roughly as a smirk tugs at his lips before his hand comes down to spank Hoseok as he moves past him. “No homo.”

  


“That was so homo!” 

  
  


_ You can take me _

_ And place me  _

_ Across the world _

_ But I will always _

_ Be lead back  _

_ To you _

  


After wandering the grounds for quite some time, cracking jokes and grabbing breakfast burritos at the kitchens, they finally manage to locate Jungkook out in the golf course. They watch in amusement as he’s cursing and stomping about the field as they munch on their breakfast, Hoseok hiding his silent laughter behind his hand when the young man curses and throws his club down on the ground. “I hate golf so much!”

  


“Gee, I wonder what told you that. It’s boring. You’re literally hitting balls into holes in the ground. I’m sure there are better places to put your balls.”

  


Namjoon and Jungkook lock eyes for a moment and it’s almost a telepathic response as they both groan loudly and roll their eyes. The mood has lightened finally, though Jungkooks hand still looks painful wrapped up in fancy bandages. He’s covering it with gloves at the moment, but Namjoon can still see the way the man winces when he moves his hand in a way that pulls at the stitches. The day is nice though, the sun shining high with strikes of white across the flawless blue of the sky. “How are you doing, hon?”

  


Jungkook smiles softly and retrieves the discarded club and returns it to his bag. The clubs clinked together noisily from being jostled around as the young man picked it up by the strap and tossed it into the back of a golf cart. “I’m fine. Hyukwon went back to college for now so he won’t be any trouble. I miss grandpa though. He was one of a kind, ya know?” Jungkook looked tired, worn down much to Namjoons dismay. The man felt the tug of something in the back of his mind as he and Hoseok followed Jungkook as he climbed into the golf cart and started it up, both of them jumping onto the back as the young man started back towards the house. “Grandpa was a recluse. He didn’t talk to anyone much except for me. I mean apparently, when he was young, he was full of life but…”

  


“Didn’t stop him from going out and trying to find the fortune though.”

  


Jungkook nodded as he drove, knuckles turning white over the steering wheel. “I know but it still sucks quite a bit, you know? Grandpa Bo-Rhee had nerves of steel. The adventure was what kept him going, and as he got older and his body couldn’t keep up… it wrecked him. He solved a shit ton of clues though. There were three big puzzles he couldn’t solve though. Spent all his time trying but I don’t know if he ever got close.”

  


They arrive back at the massive house in record time, exiting the cart and nodding to the help as they came around to collect the clubs and cart. The way they dressed always reminded Namjoon of little penguins and he couldn’t help but laugh softly at the thought. It was adorable. Though he’d never been one to wear a vest over his immaculate dress shirt, he could see the appeal. “He also had the Cryptex that he never solved, don’t forget about that. I mean, that was the one thing that should have lead to it all right?” Hoseok spoke excitedly as he skips along side them, hands tucked behind his back as they moved into the manor. The pale blue walls shone almost white in the mid-morning sun, and Namjoon winces from the brightness before he lifts a hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the light as he follows behind Jungkook. “Yeah, well… Gramps wasn’t one who was big on ancient cipher puzzle things. We don’t have the password for it so.” the young man shrugs as he shoulders his way past the butlers hustling and bustling from the kitchen much like busied crabs avoiding the tide. 

  


“Yeah, but can’t we just break it open if we find it?” Hoseok shoves his hand through his hair, biting his tongue between his perfect white teeth as the Jungkook steps up to the fridge and pulls out an apple. The young man ponders it for a moment before shaking his head, taking a bite of the crisp apple. The sound of pots banging clashes in Namjoons brain as he winces against the sound. It’s loud, and his head hurts. The cocaine that he’d taken in the morning to take the edge of still slightly in his system as he squints across the kitchen at the cooks busying themselves with preparing for lunch.  

  


“Nah. If you try to force it open, there’s vinegar in puzzles like that that will dissolve the papyrus inside. Gramps had a friend who had a similar device and he wrecked it. Destroyed an 18th-century device because they were too impatient to figure out the password.” Jungkook bites off another bite of his apple as he leads the two men out of the kitchens and out into the dining hall where staff is still cleaning up from the night before. “It’s ancient cryptology at it’s finest, gentleman.”

  


Namjoon glances at Hoseok as he gives him a quizzical look and shrugs, quickening his stride to keep up with Jungkook. Hoseok glances down at the wrapper from his breakfast burrito that he’s been carrying and snorts a laugh, tossing it over his shoulder before he’s rushing to catch up and throwing an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. “And do we know the precious password, Jungkookie?”

  


“Fuck no.”

  


_ Do not judge  _

_ My book _

_ By the Chapter _

_ You walked in on _

  


_ Where The Wild Reads Are Library in Vatican City, Rome, Italy _

  


Seokjin sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses along the bridge of his nose. The day is slow, watching the rain sliding down the massive glass windows of the library.  There’s gentle chatter in the background that is barely heard in the background over the heavy pitter patter of the storm, but he’s focused on the soft classical music that’s being played in the cat cafe next door. The two businesses share a giant space, one dimly lit, calm. Quiet. The cafe is bright, with tourists talking in hushed excitedness amongst themselves as they slip on imported coffee and eat their overpriced store-bought (but you didn’t hear it from him) scones. Something about the day is prodding at his senses, drawing his gaze outwards towards St. Peter’s Basilica. It was a ways off, but Seokjin could still see the massive building in all of its ornate glory. 

  


_ Meow!  _ He startles slightly at the sudden appearance of a beautiful Siamese cat standing at the edge of his desk, its dark tail flicking uninterestedly as it stares at him. The man smiles softly at the cat and reaches out a long-fingered hand, scratching at the top of its head as it purred and came closer. The smell of coffee wafted in from next door, and Seokjin smiled as the smell got stronger as he heard footsteps coming closer to where he sat. “Hey, Jin. Brought your usual.”

  


Mark Tuan, the barista who worked next door and always brought him a free coffee, is what the poets would call; Tall, dark, and handsome. He was a gentleman first and foremost, but always one with a witty retort or a cheesy pickup line that accompanied the drink that Seokjin most likely suspects always came out of his paycheck. “You know, Mark, if you keep doing this, it’ll be  _ grounds _ for your removal.” Seokjin scolds gently as he takes the vanilla latte in his favorite cat mug.

  


The barista flushes a dark red under the reprimand, even though he knows there’s no bite behind it, and his fingers momentarily linger on the mug as Seokjin's hand closes over it before moving away. “Yes, I know. Boss says it comes out of my paycheck. Luckily this isn’t my only job. I’m also not a broke college student who works full time at a library that’s open 18 hours a day. How do you even have time to study for your classes and come to work? Cryptography and archaeology are both really difficult courses, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Mark chuckles as he leans forward and presses his arms against the wood of the desk. His fingers grace over the various open notebooks and textbooks that are spread out along the surface, evidence of Seokjins attempt to stay caught up on both work and school at the same time. 

  


“You really are busy. You should take a break. Let me take you to dinner.”

  


“And you should focus on doing your job instead of being over here flirting with a handsome librarian.” Seokjin pulls the coffee closer to himself and finally collapses into his office chair, wincing slightly when the hot liquid spills over the side and burns his hand. He quickly wipes his hand on the back of his slacks before turning his attention back to Mark, the man pulling the Siamese cat into his arms and cooing at it.  _ How can a big tough guy be so cute?  _ Seokjin can’t help but let his gaze linger on the man as he fonds over the animal, a gentle warmth washing over him as he stares at the pair. Something about seeing a man being so gentle with something so fragile makes him smile, though he attempts to hide it behind his coffee mug as he finally brings it to his lips.

  


As always, the latte Mark as brought him is nothing but perfection. It heats him up inside, much like wrapping yourself in a warm wool blanket on a cold stormy day much like this one, enjoying a good book in front of a fire. It makes him think of camping and vacations far from home in a cabin in the woods. Snuggles and gentle touches and low conversations over a good book. The vanilla is sweet, much like the man himself. Seokjin has always liked sweet things, if only he wasn’t so damned busy- “You’re staring.”

  


“Hmm?” Seokjin jerks his gaze away from the man and back to his face, nervously licking at the foam that lingers on his top lip. Mark smirks at him and cradles the cat in one arm as he leans over the desk and swipes his thumb along the side of his mouth, lingering for only a moment before he pulls away. There’s something playful in those eyes, the way the blue depths darken and swirl like the storm outside before Mark is shaking his head at him. “Nothing. Just, Don’t do anything stupid okay? You shouldn’t be staying out too late. It’s dangerous at night.”

  


“If only I had a knight in shining armor to walk me home, Mark.” Seokjin flashes a charming smile, batting his long lashes at the taller man as he shifts his weight where he stands. It’s a gentle tease, no real meaning behind it but Mark seems to think something else as his brows lift slightly and a smirk pushes itself onto his pale face. It’s a handsome look on him, seeing him so smug and thinking he has a shot. Mark leans in slightly, tongue peeking out to wet his lips before he speaks once more, voice an octave lower to try and draw him in. “Now maybe if our shifts actually matched up I’d be able to walk such a pretty boy like yourself home. Sadly I’m home by nine to avoid getting caught behind patrols as they leave right by my apartment.” 

  


Seokjin snorts behind his coffee mug as he rolls his eyes. The Vatican had increased their security and patrols around Vatican City seems to have picked up, but despite the change, there hadn’t been any news of crime or terrorist attack. At least not that Seokjin had heard about and he was up to date on all the news. There was a bit on the news about the recent recovery of the Voynich Manuscript from a recently deceased professor's house in Venice and it had been returned to the Vatican archives for study. But that wouldn’t call for an increase in protection, not if they got it  _ back. _

  


As a college student who is studying cryptology and ancient puzzles, along with archaeology, the Voynich Manuscript is a famous case of historical cryptography. Written in an unknown writing form, written from left to right, illustrations, and diagrams, some pages are even foldable. It’s the buzz among many of the students on campus at the moment, many excited to be able to possibly be called onto the case to solve it. Seokjin on the other hand, theorized that there must be a secret component, an outward source that might help to read the manuscript. Possibly a key or a device to help read it. So far he’s come up with nothing for his thesis paper on the manuscript, going through possible fancy glasses like you’d see in movies or possible invisible ink but nothing to prove it. 

  


“You’re doing it again.” Mark laughs, drawing him from his thoughts and his attention back to the man as he turns slightly to go back to the coffee shop. Seokjin gives him a slight smile, a slight curve of his lips before he finally returns to the catatonic state he often finds himself in when he focused in on theories and ciphers and possible outcomes. The man stares at him for a moment longer before he’s disappearing back to the coffee shop where people are beginning to line up, the owner bustling around behind the counter to make up for the absent body in his cafe.

  


Seokjins thoughts begin to spiral again, flashes of papyrus and hastily scrawled chicken scratch across yellowed paper. A flash of something fluorescently purple, a flash of glowing eyes and hidden puzzles. Before he realizes what he’s doing the pencil is in his hand and he is pouring the thoughts over the notes. Writing down every bit of information he knows about the Voynich Manuscript. Which, now that he’s on the subject, isn’t that much as his main focus is alphabetic ciphers and autonomic machines that lead to something magical. The rain is getting louder, and it’s distracting. It interrupts his thought process, his hand pausing before flowing freely across his notes as he pours over his textbooks and over a polyalphabetic substitution cipher. But the intruding pitter patter only gains momentum before it’s followed by the gentle ding of the bell as someone enters before it fades to a dull hum. 

  


“Excuse me, do you have a book on the history of the Catholic Church?”

  


Seokjin wrinkles his nose in distaste when he finally looks up from his finished page, brows furrowing as he stares up at the tall woman, dressed in a tacky baby blue dress and covered in a black raincoat.  _ Fucking tourists.  _ He forces a smile on his face when he finally stands, straightening out the vintage sweatshirt as he moves around the desk. 

  


“Of course! Follow me this way.”

  


_ Even if you’re _

_ On the right track _

_ You’ll still get _

_ Run over if _

_ You just sit there _

  
  


The sky is painted in a vibrant cascade of pinkish and violet hues, the darkness of an oncoming storm not far off along the horizon as the light is quickly eaten away by the encroaching darkness. Namjoon and Hoseok stick close together as they walk down the sidewalk, a brisk wind kicking up around them as the two men head to their favorite bar in silence. There’s not much to talk about outside of work, despite the many interesting conversations the two have had on previous walks much like this one. This time is different, there's a tension that lingers from leaving Jungkook. The trio had spoken over dinner about what the coming day would hold, the possibility of the manor in Venice falling to Jungkooks brother. Namjoon pauses, stepping into an alleyway as the last of the sun slips beneath the tall buildings of Seoul, Hoseok following closely behind. He’s shivering, rubbing his tattooed hands over the thin jacket he’s wearing despite the chill autumn evening. “Can we just go? I wanna get fucked up.”

  


“We’re going to.” Namjoon snaps, pulling two rolled up joints from the cigarette carton tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. The sight of it has Hoseok bouncing up on his heels as he quickly snatches one, tucking it between his lips and lighting up before stepping into Namjoons space. Namjoon furrows his brows, squinting at the other before putting the own blunt between his lips and lighting it off the end of Hoseok's before the other is stepping away. They both draw in deeply, the smoke filling their lungs, and Namjoon feels the anxiety that has been eating away at him all day slowly tumble away like snow rushing down a mountain, leaving nothing but rocky walls and dangerous terrain. It clears his mind, focuses him as he exhales in a white cloud that swirls about his face before being taken away on the wind. It’s nights like these that he lets the drug sink in. Savors the vapor in his lungs before giving back to the air that surrounds him in dark cold. 

  


Hoseok is strangely silent, as he often is while he smokes marijuana. It calms down his hyperactive and rambunctious tendencies, and Namjoon often considered having him smoke before they went on jobs. But it made him sleepy and a bit sluggish, so he thought better of it and shrugged it off. This time though there’s a glint in his eye as he shuffles from foot to foot, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips before he finally extinguishes the butt under the sole of his boot, crushing it into the pavement. Namjoon hums softly to himself, taking his sweet time just to annoy the other before flicking the roach at his friend. Namjoon chuckles as Hoseok yelps in response and smacks at him as he dodges out of the way, following close behind as they emerge onto the sidewalk through a soft fog that’s started to form from the chill of night and the clash of warmth from the morning.

  


When they finally enter the bar, chuckling and playfully wrestling with each other, it’s quiet. They picked the bar for the privacy, the way it’s hidden around a corner and slightly behind a large restaurant. They’d stumbled upon it during a late night of drunken shenanigans while they’d had a three day weekend with Jungkook on vacation with his family. The bartender smiles brightly at them as they shove their way to the bar, Namjoon knocking Hoseok into a table with a laugh on the way when he finally takes a seat on the ripped red bar stool. It squeaks under his weight, Hoseok following quickly behind and sitting beside him. “What’ll it be, boys? The usual?” the bartender asks as she sets down the glass she’s been polishing. It shines bright like the hard surface of a diamond in the dim light, soft r&b playing from the sound system on the other side of the room. 

  


Hoseok shoves a hand through his fiery hair as he cracks a heart-shaped grin and winks playfully at her, leaning forward in his seat as if he had the biggest secret to tell. Namjoon smacks him, shaking his head and making slashing movements across his throat to try and cut him off but he only rolls his eyes as the man continues unphased. “Nah, Hyuna. We’re gonna have that good shit. Top shelf, please! Whiskey or some shit I don’t know.”

  


The bartender, Hyuna, is tall and beautiful with full lips and curves that Namjoon is sure any man would kill to touch. Except for him. He preferred a more… angular figure. (read: He’s gay as fuck.) Hoseok, on the other hand, was fond of flirting with the humble woman, who indulged the man as best she could without actually giving into his charms. “Something special happen today, boys? Celebrating something?” she inquires, turning away from the two men to reach down and grab two beers from the cooler. Namjoon smirks at Hoseok’s whining, nodding to Hyuna. She always does know who to listen to.

  


“Nah. Something happening tomorrow, and if all goes well, we’ll bring the kid around too,” Namjoon smirks at the young woman, who flushes brightly at the mention of Jungkook. Hoseok narrows his eyes at him, mouthing  _ ‘what the fuck’ _ to him. It’s hard not to burst out laughing. Hoseok likes Hyuna, if only for her body and nothing else, while Jungkook is actually interested in the young woman for her conversation and her vibrant stories of previous occupations. They’re friends, but it’s obvious to Namjoon that Hyuna wishes they were more than that. He takes the offered beers, smiling brightly at her and hands the other drink to Hoseok. He snorts unattractively as he takes it, turning his attention to the game that plays on the television.  “No, Kook’s grandpa died so we got the night off. They’re reading the will tomorrow and if everything goes well we’ll be able to celebrate. Drinks for everyone on us!” 

  


Hyuna can’t help but laugh at the idea of the two buying drinks for everyone as they usually can barely afford the alcohol they do drink. But the serious look on his face makes her pause and narrow her eyes at him before she smirks and picks the glass back up. It’s peaceful here, a gentle calm that has Namjoon sinking further into his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows against the cool wood. They talk peacefully amongst themselves, talking about the recent jewelry store robbery and the destruction Hyukwon had caused at the party. Hyuna wasn’t surprised, having spent a semester in school with the older man. He likes to party, had always bragged about his money and a younger brother who was the prodigal son and how he was the fuck up. It came as no surprise that he’d caused a scene at the celebration of life either.

  


“I still think that he’ll have left the manor to Kimwoo. I mean, Jungkooks dad is the leader of the clan. It’s only fitting that his father's manor goes to him. Why would it go to Kook, I mean he’s just a kid.” Hoseok slurs his words, swinging his arm as he stumbles back to the table. They’re each five bottles in, a soft buzz humming in Namjoon’s veins while Hoseok is practically shit-faced. He’s giggling hysterically, shaking his head before he’s focusing back in. “No, okay, but seriously. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just donated everything to the museum. After all isn’t most of the stuff stolen anyway?”

  


Namjoon shakes his head and pokes the neck of his beer bottle towards Hoseok, sloshing liquid onto the man's slightly wrinkled black slacks. “No.  It’s- fuck what’s the fuckin word” Hyuna laughs as he struggles, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she doubles over, slapping her hand against the bar as her musical laughter echoes into the bar. “Oh my god, Joon. You, a genius, forgot a simple word. Are you trying to say donated?” Namjoon cheers excitedly, almost falling out of his stool in the process before nodding in confirmation. He tips the rest of his beer back before setting it down on the swirled wood. It must have been a bit too hard as the bottom of the bottle cracks and falls apart, leaving Namjoon with an unintentional weapon. 

  


This only serves in making Hoseok and Hyuna go into hysterics at his misfortune as Namjoon stares dumbly at the broken bottle he’s left with. “Oh my god, again? Seriously?” Namjoon whines and passes the bottle to Hyuna’s outstretched hand. It’s quite embarrassing how clumsy he is when he’s inebriated, Jungkook always poking fun that it was a wonder he was inept when he was drunk but was so adroit when he was sober. It was a stark contrast between his inebriated and sober states.

  


“But, yeah, it was donated. It’s nice that Kook’s father is the leader of the clan, but Kook was the only one who took interest in Bo-Rhee’s profession. Or whatever, if you could even call it that.”

  


“Jungkook would kill you if he heard you say-”

  


“Not the point. Anyway, it’s gonna go to Kook. He’s got the knowledge. The skill. He studied the clues alongside Bo-Rhee. He knows how ciphers work. I mean, it’s not what he went to school for but he still knows quite a bit. There was this one time when Bo-Rhee was trying to solve a- fuckin… I think it was like a transposition cipher or something like that. It was interesting and I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking smart. But Kook solved it like-” Namjoon lifts his fingers and holds them in front of his face. He focuses in on them, going cross-eyed when he finally snaps his fingers, startling himself slightly before breaking out into a grin. “Like that.”

  


Hoseok doubles over and slaps his hand sharply against the top of the bar as he breaks out into loud laughter. Namjoon has to admit the sight of the drunken man is quite amusing when he falls out of his chair from laughing so hard, shaking his head before turning back to Hyuna. “Who do you think the manor will go to, ‘Yun?” 

The woman purses her lips together and taps a red painted nail against the plush flesh, slightly smearing her lipstick before she makes a popping sound once she comes to an answer. “I think it’ll be divided equally. I mean, Bo-Rhee was rich right?” Namjoon nods. “Well, he wouldn’t just leave the rest of his family with nothing. I’m not sure because I know a little bit about the Jeon family as Jungkooks friend-  _ don’t say anything Hoseok!-  _ but maybe the money and estates and stuff will be divided among family while the manor goes to Kook. Maybe he has a conditional clause in the will that will allow for equal distribution once the treasure is found?”

  


Namjoon had never thought of that. All they know is that a secret has been passed down from member to member of the Jeon clan. The lost Jeon fortune. A vast cavern of gold and jewels and precious items pirated and looted and some hard earned in a time lost to memory. Gathered together for several generations until one day, they closed it off. They shut the door and turned to a life of good instead of crime. They put clues everywhere. Had clan members in every corner of the room scatter the clues and secrets so that one day they may be solved and left the Codex as the key to culminate everything together. Lost to time and fading into a legend. Ciphers and puzzles hidden in artifacts in history. The only proof that they still had that the treasure even existed was the Cryptex. But no one had been able to open it. The password lost to yesteryears, but no one dared try and force it open in fear of losing the secret, and the fortune, forever. 

  


But there was a line of the family that kept up hope while other members of the Jeon family gave up the clues their family had gathered to Bo-Rhee, who put all the accumulated information in one space. They’d gone leaps and bounds within a few weeks, but as Bo-Rhee got older the information slowed. The ciphers took longer to solve. The informants stopped checking in, and eventually, it stopped altogether. And now with Bo-Rhee gone, the fate of the manor and all the secrets it held was unknown. 

  


Hopefully not for much longer.

  


_ The memory of you _

_ Lives inside my mind _

_ It makes a home _

_ Keeps me warm _

_ But it is nowhere near _

_ The reality that hurts _

_ When in my life _

_ You are gone. _

  


_ “Joon.” _

  


_ “Yeah Yoongles?” _

  


_ “Do you ever regret going to work for the Jeons?” _

  


_ The question shocks Namjoon a little, brows furrowed as he turns to Yoongi. The man is adjusting his tie in the mirror of their shared bedroom, twin beds on opposite sides of the room with matching furniture. Namjoon loves the Jeons, his family loves them. They’ve been in each others lives forever, why ever would he regret working for them? But he answered truthfully nonetheless. “Sometimes.” _

  


_ Yoongi turned to him, slipping his pistols into the holsters at his back and clipping two extra magazines into his belt. He looks the picture of a bodyguard,  neatly pressed white shirt. Tie pinned down by a silver plated tie clip. Immaculately ironed black slacks and jacket. Namjoon and Yoongi had met in school when they were kids, and reunited when they had both enrolled in Bangtan Secret Service around the same time. They’d been together ever since. _

  


_ “Why’s that?” _

  


_ “Sometimes I think I could be doing better with my life. I wanted adventure, ya know? Instead, I’m babysitting Jungkook. I mean, I don’t want to call it that because that’s not what I’m doing. He doesn’t get into trouble, ya know? He’s a good kid.” Namjoon shrugged as he adjusted the silver jacket over his shoulders, smoothing out the creases in the front as he clasped two of his jacket buttons. “You work for him too you know.” _

  


_ “I know.” _

  


_ Namjoon snorted a laugh and playfully punched his friend in the arm, rolling his eyes as they exited their room and headed towards the ballroom where many voices could be heard. They walk in silence for a bit until the stand at the overlook above the ballroom. People are dressed to the nines, swirling and dancing around. It reminds Namjoon of leaves flowing in the breeze on a cool autumn day, twirling above the branches until they’re slowly and softly settling back down to earth.  _

  


_ There are flashes of cameras, burning against the back of his skull from the harshness of it, and the braquet of the drums from the band pit causing him to fall back into a headspace he’d long since been trying to avoid. Blood flashes behind his lids every time he clapped them shut, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck as he remembers a time he’d rather forget.  _

  


_ A strong hand on his shoulders brings him back to earth, away from the dark sands of foreign countries where he’s fighting for a cause that’s not his own. It grounds him, drags him back from strange shores to familiar smell and sound that’s all Yoongi.  _

  


_ “So you want adventure?” _

  


_ “Yeah.” _

  


Namjoon wakes up, head pounding and stomach churning before he’s vomiting unceremoniously into the wastebasket by the floor. The alcohol paired with the light dinner they’d eaten clashes together in his stomach, the movement of jerking up from the bed making him nauseous as if he was on a boat in the choppy sea. It made him lightheaded, slightly disoriented before he’s puking into the trash can again. 

  


It’s a bitter taste that lingers in his mouth, making his throat feel like he’s swallowed cotton balls and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. He’s about to get up from the comfort of his bed as he sets a hand on his nightstand, nearly knocking the glass of water off the top in the process. There’s a note attached to it, scrawled in neat and familiar cursive.

  


_ Hyung, _

_ You came home piss drunk. I got you in your pajamas  _

_ And the maids will dry clean your suit. It’s got stains...I won’t ask what they are. _

_ Here’s some water so please drink up and try not to puke on the floor!  _

_ Tomorrows the day so please sleep well _

_ Don't stay up too late if you wake! _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Jungkookie _

  


Namjoon snorts and tosses the note into the trash, shaking his head at the kindness the younger extends to him. It’s sweet the way the younger man offers him things that other employers wouldn’t even think about, giving him common courtesy and allowing him flexible hours. And now even making sure his drunken self doesn’t have a hangover in the morning. 

  


Something is swirling inside of him, gathering up pent-up energy and anger. The dream was one he hadn’t had in a long time. Hadn’t thought of Yoongi in a long time. He doesn’t think, doesn’t  _ want _ to think, but slowly stands on shaky feet as he retrieves his phone from the charger and slips into his house slippers. The black sleeper pants are lopsided on him, and he suspects they may even be on backward as he stands- yup, backward. It takes him a few moments to adjust his appearance and right himself, but he finally manages to fix his pajamas despite almost doubling over to vomit several times. 

  


_ “Oh my god.” _

  


_ Namjoon whipped his head around from where he’d been silently listening to a conversation on atom splitting and the benefits of stem cells to focus in on Yoongi’s sudden exclamation. His brows furrowed at the stunned look on his companions face, gently reaching a hand out to grip onto Yoongi’s arm. “What? What’s up?” _

  


_ Yoongi seemed glued to the spot, his eyes glued somewhere across the ballroom. Namjoon scanned over the crowd, trying to decipher just who it was that his friend could possibly be so enraptured with that he couldn’t his answer his question. He was about to turn back away from his friend when the vision hit him like a brick wall. _

  


_ The vision came in the form of a man, tanned skin and sharp features. Plush lips striked red as wine, eyes smoked out a rusty maroon that flattered his beautiful face. When he smiled, his eyes disappeared into crescents, a delicate hand lifting to cover his mouth and perfect white teeth. Blonde hair a neatly styled atop his head, parted in the middle to reveal a flash of forehead and flawless skin.  _

  


_ The way the dark blue blouse’s neckline dipped low, enough to reveal chest and collarbones and the sinfully tight black pants the man was wearing, it was a wonder Yoongi was even still standing beside his friend. Namjoon snorted in amusement, digging his elbow into Yoongi’s side and pushing him towards the god on legs. His voice was teasing when he finally shoved the man despite his complaints. “Why are you even still standing by me? Fucking go~”  _

  


_ “Ugh, fine. God, I hate when you make me embarrass myself.” _

  


The sky is an inky black despite the way the city lights usually strike dim light across the dark. But Namjoon isn’t complaining. The stars are barely visible in the flawless sky, but the moon shines high above Seoul. It’s gorgeous the way it shines down over the gardens as Namjoon walks down the stone path, the only sound the faint night noises and the soft clack of his shoes against stone. His phone vibrates to life as he holds down the power button, bringing the device to life and blazing light against his corneas that are unprepared for the harsh brightness. He fumbles to turn the brightness down and nearly drops his phone in the process as he sits down on a bench. It’s cold, the wood wet from the storm that had long since abandoned its endeavor of drenching Seoul. 

  


Namjoon stares down at his phone.

  


Four missed calls, two from Hoseok. Two from Jungkook. 

  


He always expects to find one more missed call. One that he always looks for, still feels his heart jump into his throat whenever the voicemail goes off without the phone ringing. But it’s never the one he wants. Because he won’t call, not when he’s gone.

  


Sadness floods over Namjoon and almost chokes as a sob works its way into his throat, quickly clasping a hand over his mouth as he scrolls down through his contacts. There are text messages that lay unread, pictures that sit unreviewed, words that remain unsaid. He’s looking, can’t seem to find it. No, it’s gone, where is it, he couldn’t have- Oh. He’d scrolled to fast, sighing heavily as relief washes over him. It’s almost comical how anxious it still makes him after several years. Not that he’d ever forget the number in the first place.

  


_ Contact: Min Yoongi x-xxx-xxx-xxxx _

  


_ Calling… _

  


_ ‘*static, faint voices* Joon, how the fuck do I do this? *static*’ _

  


_ ‘Just talk, geez you’re such a gramps. Just leave a recording.’ _

  


_ ‘Now?’ _

  


_ ‘Oh my god, yes now you dumbass.’ _

  


_ ‘*static, rustling before a voice is clearly heard* H-hey-o you’ve reached Min Yoongi-” _

  


_ “-The oldest young person to ever exist!-” _

  


_ “Oh my god shut up you’re so embarrassing! Why are we even friends?” _

  


_ “-hurry up hyung-” _

  


_ “Oh- uh, leave a detailed message and your number after the beep my homies.” _

  


_ “-the fuck you never say my homies-’ _

  


_ “Oh my can you fucking no-” _

  


_ *BEEP* _

  
  


_ Even when you _

_ Are not here _

_ I can still feel your _

_ Warmth _

_ Your friendship _

_ Your love _

_ Because you are _

_ My best friend _

  
  


_ “Jimin is leaving, Joon. He’s got a job in America.” _

  


_ Namjoon snorted from his place behind his desk, lifting his head from the paperwork he was pouring over. Manuscripts and detailed account from a recent job had stacked up and he was behind on work. With Yoongi busy with his boyfriend there had been little time for the other to assist as Jungkook was trying to give him some wiggle room with his schedule. “Yeah, so?” _

  


_ “I know you don’t like him, Joon. Think he’s just a piece of ass or something trying to use me to get close to Kook.” Yoongi fiddled with the dark blue stone ring embedded in a silver circle on his finger, tongue poking at his cheek as he stepped further into the room. Something is different about him, like he’s holding back from saying what he truly wants. It isn’t cause for concern, but it catches Namjoons attention nonetheless.  _

  


_ “Hey, he’s a nice piece of ass okay. The best I’ve seen.” Namjoon pointed his finger at his friend as a smirk spread across his face, shaking his head slightly. His friend, the one who was always so hard headed and cold, was completely and utterly whipped. It’d only been a month and a half since the ball, and it gave Namjoon every opportunity to pick on his friend who constantly gushed about how wonderful and adorable his boyfriend was.  _

  


_ Even if he was a criminal. _

  


_ “I don’t know why you don’t turn him over to the police.” _

  


_ Yoongi sighed exasperatedly and scrubbed a hand down his face. Not this again. “I told you. I’m not gonna do that. Jimin trusts me. Plus it’s probably just petty crime. He probably like got caught shoplifting or something.” _

  


_ He turns his head towards the other, their gazes meeting. Namjoon shook his head at his friend, but he couldn’t fight the dark feeling that was slowly creeping its way from his stomach up his throat, like something bad was going to happen.  _

  


_ “Whatever. So Jimin’s got a job in the states. How long will he be gone? I don’t wanna hear you crying and whining about how much you miss him nor do I wanna hear your nasty skype sex. We share a room, ya know.” _

  


_ Yoongi cleared his throat as he stood straighter, and it was only then that Namjoon noticed the suitcases by the door. He’d barely noticed that the others things had started to go missing from their room, how he was barely present in their shared space anymore as they’d both been so busy. “What, Yoongi? What’s the problem?” _

  


_ “I’m going with him.” _


	2. Ignify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what that means, baby?"
> 
> "No."
> 
> "When I met you, Yoongi, i was a coal. A slightly heated ash, barely smoldering beneath the surface. When you touched me, I became a wild fire. I exploded in yellow and orange and became a brilliant light. Under your touch, with your love, I became a roaring flame."
> 
> "You're sweet, Doll. But why Ignify?"
> 
> "It's latin. It means to form into fire. And that is what I intend to do to this world."
> 
> ____________
> 
> A night of celebration turns disastrous when someone from Namjoon's past reappears, turning his world upside down and setting fire to everything he'd built for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up my dudes.  
> Getting to some good stuff in this chapter. Not all the chapters will be as long as the first one as I am a working human being. (I work ten hour days so).The chapters following this will delve into some complex theories and deep knowledge, so make sure to pay close attention! I might even put up ciphers for you to solve yourself! <3  
> Watch #EsotericFic on twitter and follow me @SunshinePoets  
> I try to release new chapters every Thursday! 
> 
> As always if people ask for updates I will put major character death at the end so don't do it :')
> 
> This is unedited as of right now, please stay tuned!

_ The strings of fate _

_ Attach us whether _

_ We want it or not _

_ But even so _

_ If I had to be stuck  _

_ With someone forever _

_ I’d want it to be you _

  
  


It’s bright. 

 

Namjoon hates when Yoongi leaves the curtains open. He knows that. 

 

“Dude, close the curtains I’m fucking tired.” Namjoon growls as he goes to throw off the covers. There’s a slight draft that 

 

But there aren’t any.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

Namjoon sits up, groaning audibly as his bones and muscles shift and his body is flooded with an uncomfortable dull ache. It hurts, but he pushes himself up to sit despite the pain that radiates through his back. He blinks rapidly, trying to remember the activities of the previous night.

  
  


Drinking.

  
  


Getting blackout drunk.

  
  


Vomiting into the trash can. 

  
  


Gardens.

  
  
  


_ Yoongi. _

  
  
  


_ Fuck. _

  
  
  


Namjoon looks down at himself, disheveled and slightly damp from the morning dew and possibly the garden sprinklers that went off every morning in the AM. There’s noise, loud and incessant like an annoying mosquito buzzing around his head. It only increases the pounding in his head. He pats himself down, searching frantically for the source of the noise, sighing exasperatedly when he pulls out his phone and sees 32 missed texts from Hoseok.

 

**_Hoeseok A Bitch_ **

**_8:30am-10:47_ **

_ Dude where are you _

_ Seriously this isn’t funny _

_ Jungkook is totally going to fire you _

_ Just so you know I get your room when Kooks dad kills you _

_ Does that mean i get your guns too? _

_ THEY’RE DIVIDING UP THE ASSETS HURRY UP _

 

Namjoon stares at the last message, sent only a few minutes ago. The pounding in his head is getting continually worse, a violent buzz in his head.  He is on his feet in an instant, clutching onto his phone as he quickly dashes from the bench. It’s hard, his muscles complaining from the sudden movement, all too fast for his still waking body.  He doesn’t even stop to say hi to their staff as they move past him and happily greet him, only throwing up a peace sign over his shoulder as he makes a mad dash for his room. There is no way that he is arriving in his pajamas. 

 

He reaches the room in record time, throwing his clothes off along the way, making the flash thinking that he’ll collect them later. They’re dirty, maybe the staff will get them and wash them, is his last thought as he strips his underwear off as he makes it into his room. Clothes are already laid out, but no note this time. It must be from Hoseok, because the socks are mismatched, but he has no time to correct it as he hastily dresses in the casual suit, minus the tie this time.

 

The ornate halls are lined with expensive vases as he makes his way towards the office, the sharp clack of his dress shoes echoing off the walls as he ventures through the maze that is the Jeon manor. It’s easy to get lost if you’re inexperienced, but luckily for Namjoon he has travelled these halls almost all his life. The sound of a deep male voices reaches his ears as he makes a right turn down a bright yellow hall, a door at the very end slowly filtering voices out into the otherwise quiet space.

 

“-And to my oldest grandson, Hyukwon, I leave my treasured collection of antique paintings that are hung around my house in Daegu. I don’t-” the lawyer stops talking as Namjoon slips in, in a state of slight undress as he hurries to tuck in his shirt and smooth out the wrinkles. It draws attention to him, unwanted attention at his tardiness. His face flushes in embarrassment as he bows slightly in apology. The lawyer eyes him warily, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before he continues on reading as Namjoon takes his place behind Jungkook.

 

“Dude, where the hell were you?” Hoseok whispers, nudging him sharply with his elbow. The lawyers voice is fading into the background, and even with Hoseok speaking to him, both of their eyes are glued to Jungkook's older brother as he sits fidgeting in his chair. He’s agitated, that much is obvious. He looks like a rabid dog that’s reached the end of its leash, like he’s about to snap and throttle the lawyer as he continues on in a monotonous intonation. It’s borish and unexciting, but Hoseok seems anxious as well, fighting off making jokes when there’s a lull in conversation.

 

“Fell asleep in the gardens. My phone volume was low and I didn’t hear. Last night was crazy.” Namjoon stepped slightly closer to Hoseok so as not to disrupt the reading, pausing only when Jungkook looked at him questioningly over his shoulder.  There’s a shadow across his face, a subtle shade that makes him look several years older. It worries Namjoon, though a look from Hoseok tells him he shouldn’t be too concerned with it.

 

“And to Hyukwon I leave my vintage collection of cars and the garage that goes along with it. Hopefully with this it will give you something to work on besides that pitiful art degree that will get you nowhere. You can turn the housing unit above the garage into a studio if that’s what you choose to do with your time.”

 

Namjoons gaze lifts from Jungkook, turning away from the young man towards his brother, who sits with a white-knuckle grip on the plush chair. A vein has popped in his neck and there is a look of utter contempt plastered to his face. They’re getting towards the end, with the assets having been divided evenly like Hyuna had predicted.

 

He’ll have to buy her a drink later.

 

But something is tugging at his sleeve, insistent. As Namjoon turns he see’s Hoseok leaning in and they almost bump heads before Namjoon turns his head at the last moment. “What is it?” Namjoon asks quietly as he steps closer into Hoseok's space. The lawyer is shuffling through a stack of papers, a puzzled look furrowing his brows.

 

“They haven’t said what is going to Jungkook, yet.”

 

Realization slowly dawns, twisting it’s way up from the dark recesses of his hungover mind, creeping over  his cerebellum until he whips his head towards the lawyer as he pulls a yellowed piece of paper from the stack of neatly situated white. It’s old and worn, crinkled at the edges and clearly ripped in half if the way the fragile scotch tape is trying to hold it together. It’s out of place, sure of itself. Something unlike the others. Something old and logical. Unarguable.

 

“To my youngest grandson, Jeon Jungkook,”

 

There’s an almost visible tension in the room as the lawyer straightens the glasses along the bridge of his nose, brings the piece of paper closer to himself as he tries to read the miniscule print. Jungkook is stark and rigid in his seat, his own hands digging crescent shaped marks into the plushness of his chair as he leans forward expectantly. Namjoon himself is tense, back ramrod straight as if he’s been whipped into the position.

 

“The love I have for you is more than I’ve known in a long time. I love you like you were my own son, and i am so unbelievably proud of you achievements in life. You stood by my side when I needed you the most, listened to me while I struggled over the puzzles, the endless ciphers. The riddles. You have morphed into a proud and handsome young man, much like I was when I was your age when the secret passed to me. We are so close, I can feel it-”

 

Namjoon see’s Jungkook’s body beginning to shake slightly, as if washed over by a cold wind and he was trying to get warm. But it’s the summertime, and the room is hot. To see his young friend so sad, to know the tears that are surely brimming on his long lashes and threatening to spill over. He’d rather replace that sadness with a smile, bright eyed and all teeth as he tries not to toss his head back with the laughter that bubbles from his lips.

 

Hoseok, beside him, is the only one relaxed in the room, leaning heavily against the floor to ceiling bookshelf of the study, one hand resting almost casually on the grip of his gun. The holster is unsnapped, ready for a quick draw just in case Hyukwon is angered. Neither of them are optimistic 

 

“-I leave my manor in Venice, Italy, along with the secrets and the Cryptex to the lost family fortune.”

 

It’s funny, how when there’s a terribly moment in your life, so unbelievably expected but unexpected at the same time, your brain slows everything down. The way the sounds garble together like you’re underwater, you open you mouth to protest but nothing comes out. You see the danger in front of you slowly reaching for you with sharp claws and gnashing teeth but you can’t pull yourself away in time before it rips into you.

 

Namjoon barely hears the screech of the chair as it’s shoved backward, feels the soft thud under the soles of his shoes as it hits the hardwood floor. The way the lawyer jerks back so slowly is almost comical to Namjoon’s post-drunken state, and he has to fight the urge to laugh. He’s about to turn an say something to Hoseok, but he’s brought to the present as he’s knocked backwards by Jungkook’s own chair being shoved away as his brother makes a move toward him.

 

“-piece of shit! I’ll kill you!”

 

Namjoon jerks back to the present as Hoseok draws his gun, and he quickly follows suit as he tugs his own weapon from his holster and they both raise their weapons at the same time Jungkook's father gets a hold on his son. The man's eyes are wild, so wide that Namjoon can see the whites of them, see how bloodshot and swollen they look. It’s difficult the way he rips at the grip on his arms, spittle flying from his mouth as curses and obscenities spill from his lips. 

 

“You’ll regret this! I’ll kill you! That treasure is mine! It’s my birthright!” 

 

“Back off, Hyukwon.” Namjoon says evenly as he pulls Jungkook easily behind him, never taking his eyes off of the enraged brother. Hoseok is inching Jungkook towards the door, one hand guiding him by the arm as he nudges the door open with the muzzle of his gun. 

 

The man hesitates, pausing in his struggle against his fathers iron grip. He seems to calm at Namjoon aiming his gun at him, the way it’s lifted slightly, ready to be lifted to shoot if he even makes a move. But it gives a split second of his father to relinquish the hold, to let go just the slightest bit, when he’s launching himself forward towards Namjoon, one hand closing over the weapon and pushing it down. It discharges from the pressure Hyukwon puts on his finger, wood splintering and exploding in a cacophony that riqoutches off of the small confined space. It rings in Namjoons ears, piercing through the fog of slowly simmering consciousness in his still waking state. 

 

It makes him slow to respond, but he quickly feels the power flooding his limbs, the way the adrenaline races through his body and rushes over him in waves. One hand comes up, closing over Hyukwon’s thick wrist, pinching the tendons. He digs his fingers into the space between the tendons, pressing in as his thumb puts pressure against the wrist and watches it relax slightly under his vice grip.  

 

The twist is easy, the way he guides Hyukwons body with the hand on his wrist, moving until he drops his grip on the gun. There’s a brief power struggle, where the man resists the painful way his arm is directed. But Namjoon is bigger, stronger. While Hyukwon is taller and has more mass, Namjoon has the strength. His leg kicks out slightly, knocking the man to his knees as he pins his arm behind his back and shoves him onto the floor. “-Fuck you!” 

 

Pain shoots through the center of his face, blood splattering down his face as the man's head connects with his nose as he jerks back. It paints his white shirt crimson, and he rears back, cursing loudly as he brings a hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. It’s painful but it’s not broken, but he feels the slight crack of bruised cartilage when he bends down to grab his weapon from the bloodied floor. “Go fuck yourself, Hyukwon.” Namjoon spits vehemently as he backs out of the room, eyes narrowed to slits as he glares at the man. 

 

“Likewise, Namjoon.” Hyukwon smirks, spitting in his direction before he closes the door on the chaos.

  
  


At the end of the hall, Hoseok stands hovering protectively over Jungkook, back ramrod straight though the brightness of his eyes and  the way his lips turn up at the edges implies he’s quite amused. Namjoon can feel the blood pouring down his face despite the pressure he’s putting on his nose, a soft v furrowed between his brows as he makes his way towards the two men. Their eyes go wide when they finally do see them, with Jungkook’s exhausted look quickly being replaced by worry as he jumps up and runs towards him. His hands flutter by his face, trying to decide what he could do before he pulls a bright rose red handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to Namjoon. He takes it, flashing a look of grateful appreciation and tips his head back, pressing the cloth to his injured nose.

 

“My dear man, are you okay?” 

 

Namjoon pauses as a blush creeps up his cheeks at the elderly maid staring at him in shock. He nods slowly, offering her a pained smile of gratitude when she offers him a clean rag from her cart. The way she looks at him makes him feel slightly ashamed, though he can’t quite place why. Maybe because the look is one similar to that of one his mother would give him when he came home after scraping his knee. It’s gentle, but it still embarrasses him to no end and he turns away, leading Hoseok and Jungkook towards the latters room.

  
  


“What the fuck just happened?” Namjoon yells, kicking the door shut behind him as he presses the rag to his nose. Jungkook is with him again in a moment, brows furrowing as he tugs at his wrist. His hand curls over Namjoon’s fingers and attempts to pry them away, only to gasp in surprise when blood begins to pour from his nostrils again from the lack of pressure. There’s a pained look on his face, though Hoseok seems indifferent, mumbling something to himself about how ‘ _ he’s seen worse he’ll be fine.’ _

 

“I’m fine. Hyukwon just got in a lucky shot. Made a grab for my gun and I got him onto the floor, but I didn’t move out of the way in time to avoid his head.”

 

Hoseok snorts, rolling his eyes as he hops up onto Jungkook’s bed, the springs creaking under the sudden weight. The muscles beneath his shirt flex, tightening and forming over his chest as he rolls up his sleeves and motions for Namjoon to come closer. “He’s seen worse, Kook. Don’t worry about it. His head is almost as thick as your brothers, but luckily he’s not as dimwitted.”

 

As Namjoon steps closer, the heaviness in his chest lifting at the sight of Jungkook breaking out into a smile rivaling the brightness of Hoseok’s heart-shaped grin. Hoseok’s hands are lifting to smooth long fingers along his nose, and he feels the crackle of cartilage beneath the swirled pads. There’s a gurgled curse as blood slides down his throat and he spits into the rag, wincing violently when pain shoots up his face from scrunching his nose in disgust. 

 

Despite the pain that has settled itself into his face, the hard grip on Hoseok’s thigh as the man resets the broken nose, a sharp crack as he presses in, Namjoon is happy. He feels victorious for Jungkook. For him. For Hoseok. They have a victory over the family, over Hyukwon. Over those idiots who told Jungkook that he would turn into his grandfather, wasting away searching for something that doesn’t exist. They would prove them wrong.

 

They’d find the treasure.

 

Or they’d die trying.

 

_ To die with alone _

_ Or to live without _

_ Purpose _

_ You may as well have _

_ Not have lived at all _

  
  


_ Somewhere in Seoul, South Korea _

“Taehyung I swear to god if you don’t put that fucking diamond back I’ll cut your damned fingers off.” Jimin growls as he twirls a knife in his grasp. The sharp metal sparkles like a diamond in the dim light of the Seoul hotel, the way it cast rainbows off the walls from the dim sun. It was a calm day, one where they usually relaxed by the pool, sipping on expensive mixed drinks and lounging on cheap pool furniture. 

 

Today however, they’d received a text to be on standby in Seoul. So here they remained in their hotel rooms instead of cruising the vast shops of Gangnam-Pa. Jimin, one to almost always follow orders and not disobey the words of the boss, had stayed in the penthouse of the  _ Daydream in Seoul Hotel _ . He is still lounging on the same spot on the couch as when his companion had left to supposedly go and get ‘ice’, which technically he hadn’t lied. The same show was playing, almost coming to an end as the hour came to a close. 

 

Taehyung looks up from where he’s sitting at the massive table, sliding a tongue over his lower lip as he is drawn from his focus. The diamond between the swirled leather of his gloves glints slightly in the light, sparking light across the blade in his hand. It draws the youngers attention to it, his dark eyes following the flicker of light along the blade before it plays across the floor and back to the window. He doesn’t respond, much to Jimin’s agitation as he moves to adjust his aching limbs on the couch. 

 

“Bitch, I’m talking to you, you fucking klepto.”

 

This seems to catch Taehyung's attention, and a boxy grin splits across his face, all perfect teeth and crinkled eyes. It softens something in Jimin, who rolls his eyes in response to the mans offered attempt at endearment as he pushes himself off the couch and makes his way over to his side. Jimin lifts his arm, as if to strike Taehyung, before embedding the knife into the table, watching as it quivers from the force before turning his attention back to his friend. The taller man doesn’t hesitate in wrapping a strong arm around his waist, pulling Jimin to sit along his thighs and holds up the diamond. Taehyung’s eyes light up before Jimin’s eyes, and he’s always enjoyed the others musings.  “Solid carbon. Diamond cubic crystal structure. One of the strongest elements known to man. Yet so small. People kill for these. It is nature in its purest art form.”

 

“With a little help.” Jimin giggles, lips tilting at the edges as he inches closer to the man.

 

It earns a laugh from Taehyung, a deep thing that fills the space around them and vibrates his chest against Jimin’s shoulder as he leans into him. “Yes, with a little help, Darling.”

 

Jimin stares at the diamond for a moment, gazes dropping to the small velvet pouch that lies slightly untied beside Taehyung’s gear. A carefully zipped lockpick set made of the strongest metal to prevent breakage, a suitcase that contains most of his electronic equipment and an assortment of other things that Jimin isn’t even quite sure what their purpose is. He’s never been quite sure how Taehyung even knows what all the devices are for. But it helps them get their jobs done, so Jimin prefers not to ask questions. “Darling. You’re staring again. What are you thinking about?”

 

The question draws Jimin away from his unfocused thoughts, forcing a smile onto his lips as he reaches up a hand to gently press a kiss against the youngers sharp jaw, patting his cheek with a bit more force than necessary before pushing himself up to stand. “Nothing you need to worry about, sunshine. Just worried about where this place will bring us.” 

 

The response has Taehyung stiffening slightly and his hand wraps around Jimin’s wrist. Taehyung knows how he feels about being back in Seoul given the history they all have here, but it’s needed if they wish to complete the job they’re on standby for. There’s danger around every corner here, people who could recognize them for who they really are. Despite their reputation as a deadly organization, it hasn’t stopped people from trying to meddle in their business.

 

Anyone who had stuck their nose where it didn’t belong ended up dead in the Han river, far from their dump spot and never any evidence that pointed to where they’d been.

 

Jimin was good like that.

 

“We don’t have to take the job, Jimin.” Taehyung urges, brushing a gentle kiss across the elder mans scarred knuckles. 

  
  


Jimin grew up in Busan, with a rich family. Private school. Private trainers. He’d always been a bit of a reckless individual, preferring the company of bad boys while he played the part of the good boy. The student-body president. The genius. He wanted for nuthin, but he had always craved something more. Something darker. He allowed said bad boys to hurt him, to fuck him. To teach him things that you couldn’t learn in school. He learned the weak points of the human body when he studied for medical school but never actually enrolling. Learned the quickest way to kill a person by taking victims in the dark of night.

 

There were times when Jimin had gotten into trouble, felt the slice of a blade when he wasn’t quick enough. The bite of a bullet when he didn’t raise his own gun in quick succession. But practice makes perfect, and now there were no new marks. All faded into the background of their minds, the intricate pattern of the scars across his body doing nothing to hinder the beauty.

 

It’s the burden they both bare. Countless scars, though Taehyung doesn’t have nearly as many as Jimin. No, most of his are mental scars.

 

Jimin is covered in them from head to toe, the strikes of white are a stark contrast to the richly tanned skin. All covered by the finest garments and even finer lingerie beneath his clothes.  The way the lingerie clings to his form drawing in even the strongest of men, causing the downfall of so many. 

 

Except for one man. 

 

The sparkling black band that hands on a heavy duty silver chain has never left the delicate curve of his collarbones and the strong expanse of his chest. It’s a vow, much one like he took to serve in House of Cards, but one that means more to him than the sweetness of the death he delivers or the gorgeous lace that adorns his skin beneath his clothes.

 

He’s the pure epitome of sex on legs, with firm thighs and muscled arms. The indents and ridges of his abs often show through the tight shirts he wears, slim fingers never far from a weapon placed somewhere hidden on his body. The way his tousled blond hair ties together his look is wholly unfair. 

 

But none of these compare to the sharp lines of his face. The perfect bridge of his nose, the crescent of his eyes. Or his perfect cupid's bow that lines the mans plump full lips. All of this in the perfect package. An angel of death.

 

Whether it be a blade strapped to his inner thigh, or a gun in the waistband of black jeans with the muzzle snug against the curve of his ass. That’s why they have him in House of Cards. Jimin is the best damn assassin the organization has ever seen. Granted, he’s the only one they’ve ever had as he killed the others. 

 

He shows no remorse, and is absolutely ruthless. The way he slowly curves his blade into a body, watching the way the blood slowly wells from the wound to paint crimson across white, or the way it splatters across his face and the expensive clothes he buys for himself.  The way he can find a weak point without even looking at the body he sinks his blade into is exquisite.

 

Cleanup is always messy, but they never fail to leave no trace of what occured in their wake.

 

Art in its purest form.

 

It’s a wonder he goes by the name of Queen of Spades.

  
  


Taehyung, on the other hand….

 

He’s a completely different story. A wild card.

 

The Jack of Diamonds.

 

His background is darker. A bit more tragic. Born on the streets of Daegu he was left to fend for himself by drug addicted parents. Lucky for him he was a quick learner. He caught on quick to tricks of the trade. Slim fingers and perfect face giving off the feign of innocence. The look of a young boy with a boxy smile lulled people into a sense of calm and adoration, only to be replaced by shock and anger when he robbed them blind.

 

Now that Taehyung is older, people are drawn to him. The chiselled line of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose or the sensual smile that gives a flash of teeth whenever he is in the mood. He’s not as built as Jimin, but his arms and legs are finally muscled, the strength he exudes for slipping in windows or holding himself above museum exhibits or climbing up the side of buildings honed after years of mischief. The finely tailored suits he wears accompanied by expensive watches and rings tie his look together, and he exudes the complete exterior of a refined gentleman of distinguished tastes.

 

Knick knacks and trinkets often found their way into his clutches, whether it be intentional or not. He still had trouble paying for even the simplest things, preferring to rely on the sticky fingers that have gotten him through life. Although now he is often scolded for stealing trivial things by Jimin, who shakes his head and slides his black card with one of his many aliases across the scanner.

 

Taehyung is the perfect liar. Charming smile lulling you into a peaceful calm even as he is spinning a web so intricate that not even Jimin himself had been able to decipher truth from tale when they’d first met in training. They’d quickly become a bonded pair, twin smiles and hooked pinky fingers as they slayed their way through the competition. But the lies could become too much for Taehyung, and when they did he often turned to alcohol.

 

The bitter liquid always strapped in an engraved flask that never left his side. Jimin claims the man is an alcoholic, though he always denies the accusation and refers to himself as an ‘alcohol connoisseur.’ It always makes Jimin laugh, a sneer of a response coming in the form of, “You’re not a connoisseur, but you are a con.” Which isn’t wrong, as Jimin often finds the younger in the seat of a casino on their off days, tossing money around as if it grows on trees. Which, technically for them as they have almost limitless funds, basically does. 

 

But even with all of these qualities, there’s one that has never failed to cause him at least some distress. 

 

Taehyung also has OCD. 

 

Not major, but enough that everything is always clean and in order when Jimin comes home. It’s nice, having someone so clean when he is so very messy. They compliment each other, almost never without the other by their side. But that’s what you get when your best friend is also your coworker.

 

“I want to do it, Tae. The location isn’t the problem.” Jimin trails his fingers over his jaw, nails scraping softly along the skin there. It earns him a soft purr from his friend, one hand curving back over his waist as he tugs him closer and that boxy smile appears once more in a show of appreciation. It kicks up something in his chest as he leans in slightly, feels the others breath fan across his face, leaning closer, pulling him down, down… 

 

They rub their noses together, eyes locked on each others in wide comical expressionism. Taehyung stands, reaching up a long fingered hand to slide the digits through Jimin’s hair before disappearing towards the bathroom.  A sound comes from behind the door, and on instinct Jimin’s hand immediately goes to the knife embedded in the table. There’s the soft pad of fancy shoes, the scrape of a keycard and the beep of a lock before in steps the man they’d been waiting for. The metal object clatters to the table-top, breath hitching as his eyes light up.

 

He’s dressed in an immaculate black suit with red lining on the lapels, strong hands adjusting the top two buttons and revealing sharp pale collarbones and the brief broad expanse of chest as he moves into the room. Jimin leaps from his spot and rushes over to the man, curling his fingers into the suit jacket fits perfectly over the mans broad form and leans up to press a kiss to his soft lips. There’s a glint of something shiny, a silver chain with a silver band with a wooden ring in the middle that catches the light.

 

“Welcome back, my King.”

 

Having served for the Jeon Clan alongside a noble friend named Namjoon, he has always been one to hold his principles close to his heart. The very definition of agathokakological. He had served in the military, had seen men shot and killed. Had killed with his own hands. Matters weren’t great and he was left with scars on his mind. In his heart. PTSD brings back nightmares in the black hours before the dawn, fingers reaching out for him with claws and gnashing teeth that threaten to consume him entirely.

 

He became an unforgiving killing machine. Naturally taking on the role of leader, complete with an untold number of rifles, pistols, weaponry of all sorts. There wasn’t a piece in his collection that wasn’t sparkling. They were quite intimidating with the amount of attention the man paid to them, making sure everything was in working order before allowing himself to leave. They glimmered in the light, with a cute dangly charm on the end of each one. Not that anyone ever got close enough to see them. He was always in the background, in a building way up high with heat sensor lenses and coms in his ear to guide them through everything they needed to do, where they needed to go.

 

A ruler and his Queen. Their subjects would bow before them.

 

The King of Hearts, returned once again to his kingdom.

  
  


“Evening, Doll.”

 

Jimin smiles as he skips over to the broad shouldered man, who stands about equal height with him but never fails in making him feel small. The look on the man’s face is worn down, exhaustion tugging at his handsome features as he brushes the thumb of his veiny hand over Jimin’s plush lower lip, pulling it down slightly before diving in for a kiss. There’s something desperate about it, the way he clings onto the man, fingers diving into black locks and tug him closer. 

 

“Evening, Yoongi.”

 

The man’s tongue pushes at the inside of his cheek as he pulls away, gaze sweeping over Jimin in an appreciative gesture before he’s pulling away and making his way towards the couch. He collapses onto the furniture, uttering a low groan as soon as his face hits the soft white suede. It draws Taehyungs attention from his place in the bathroom, his face lighting up at the sight of the older man. The padding of footsteps sounds quickly, followed by a curse and a loud thump by what Jimin assumes is Taehyung slipping and falling. The thought is confirmed when they hear a muffled, “I’m okay!” coming from the bathroom.

 

Yoongi smiles softly when his husband finally relinquishes him of the guns digging into his side from the space on the couch, discarding with with a glittering blade on the table nearby. Jimin looks far off, a soft smile tugging at his lips as his phone goes off. He hasn’t even been home for more than five minutes and already the man looks more happy to look at his phone than at him. Though Yoongi knows it’s not true as not a moment later his own phone buzzes with a notification.

 

**_Unknown Number- 7:34pm_ **

_ Tonight. 9pm.  _

 

That’s all it reads, but it makes the adrenaline flood into his system nonetheless. He feels anxious now, pushing himself up from his space on the couch to catch Jimin staring at him in the reflection of the floor to ceiling window. He’s got that far off look in his eye, the one he gets when he is deep in thought. Though Yoongi wishes he would share without him having to ask. But, he digresses.

 

“What is it, Doll?”

 

Jimin’s lips tip up at the edges, tongue peeking out from behind white teeth to swipe over the plump flesh of his bottom lip before he’s turning to lean against the window. His back arches slightly and he tips his head back, knowing full well Yoongi’s gaze lingers on the elegant curve and broad expanse of exposed skin. The way those perfect lips curl up into a mischevious smile at Yoongi’s lingering gaze, the slow drag of tongue over flesh as he lifts his hand to trail fingers along the neckline of his shirt. 

 

“Have you heard of the word Ignify, Darling?”

 

Yoongi lifts his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, blinking dumbly at his beloved before shaking his head slightly as he adjusts in his seat. It takes effort to drag his eyes away from Jimin’s skin and focus on his face, an expectant look on his face as he waits for his actual words. “Yes, Doll. I have.”

 

"Do you know what that means, baby?"

 

"No."

 

Jimin slowly straightens against the wall, tongue wetting over his lips as he trails fingers over the smooth glass. It draws Yoongi’s gaze as he traces patterns into the clean clearness of it, but he focuses back on his voice when Jimin speaks again, stealing his breath away with words of romance.  "When I met you, Yoongi, i was a coal. A slightly heated ash, barely smoldering beneath the surface. When you touched me, I became a wild fire. I exploded in yellow and orange and became a brilliant light. Under your touch, with your love, I became a roaring flame."

 

"You're sweet, Doll. But why Ignify?" Yoongi inquires as he sits up from the couch, smoothing out the wrinkles in his slacks as Jimin steps closer towards him. His hands curve around the back of his neck, small fingers playing with the hair at his nape as he moves to straddle him. The brush of skin has Yoongi jolting slightly, eyes flickering between Jimin’s lips and his eyes until they’re both smiling dumbly at each other.

 

Jimin smiles as he leans down, trailing his lips over his jaw before his teeth nip against his skin as he pulls something from his pocket. It’s Yoongi’s lighter, the fancy zippo with his name engraved on it from his days in the military. He flicks it open, holding it between them as his eyes glitter in the bright flame as he flicks it on.

 

"It's Latin. It means to form into fire. And that is what I intend to do to this world."

 

_ There is nothing _

_ That stands in the way _

_ Of my purpose in life _

_ Not even the love _

_ That I find  _

_ Along the way _

 

_ Vatican City, Rome, Italy _

 

Seokjin stares at the books lining the walls, the endless array of colors that all seem to blend together. There seems to be something off about tonight, the way the rain splatters across the roof, pinging off the tin and seeming to drive everyone away. Even the tourists have barely been in today. Not that he minds. Seokjin prefers the quiet days over the busy ones. Prefers the quiet company of Mark as he comes over to give them both a break at work, or a cat that randomly follows him around the library as puts books back on their shelves. It’s a welcome reprieve from the daily life of a small library in Rome, or the busy life of a college student working full time.

 

The smell of rain filters in every now and then as people leave the coffee shop next door, turning the small shared business space into a cacophony of thunder and a crack of lightning as it lights up the night. There’s one more person who is sitting at the cafe, and Seokjin finds his attention being drawn to Mark as he walks around the cafe. The broom he’s holding looks almost small compared to how tall he is, the way he moves his body with grace. Seokjin, as tall as he is, feels quite awkward compared to the barista.  But then again, he’s not a dancer either.

 

Mark seems to feel his eyes on him, because he suddenly turns towards him and flashes a brilliant smile, lifting a hand almost hesitantly and waving in Seokjin’s direction. He blushes, nodding jerkily and lifts a hand to his heated face, spinning away in his office chair and going to try and focus on finishing the closing duties he has to attend to before he leaves.

 

Tonight is almost like any other night, with Seokjin staying until the violet hours of the morning as he closes up the shop and normally dispersing around two am. This time is no different, with his usual pen scrawling hastily into the books as he goes through which books have been returned and how much money they may have lost with tourists not returning their books.

 

Seokjin is so focused in on his tasks at hand that he doesn’t hear Mark finish his closing duties, the soft clatter of food bowls as he makes sure the cats are fed before most of his light is cut off as the barista flips the switch. It startles him, his head jerking up so fast that his neck cracks, pain radiating up his spine. There’s a flash of hurt across his features that catches Marks attention as he moves closer and his brows furrow.

 

“Baby, are you okay?” Mark asks quietly, and the endearment only serves in making Seokjin roll his eyes as the man steps behind the desk. Seokjin is about to protest but the man steps between his spread legs, knees bumping against the chair as he leans into his space.

 

“Mark, what are you doing?” Seokjin murmurs, though despite his inquiry he still melts under the touch as he feels swirled pads pressing into the painful spot at the base of his neck. They press inward, smoothing along his pale skin and up his neck. There’s the faint scrape of nails along the base of his skull, soft locks of hair being tugged as they catch between long fingers. It’s pleasant, and Seokjin’s head falls forward to rest against the baristas stomach as he massages along his aching back.

 

“Just relax, okay? You work too hard. I’ll walk you home after this, the patrols are getting particularly more strict. Especially at night.” Mark soothes, deep voice slipping over him like velvet and Seokjin can only humm in response. It’s like magic, the way the man works his fingers into the knots along his shoulders.

 

And distracting.

 

“M-Mark.. I need to finish these papers, okay?” Seokjin pulls back slightly and turns his chair back towards the desk, picking up the pen with a slightly trembling hand. Mark doesn’t listen, only presses up against his back and pressing his thumbs along the line of his spine through his shirt. Hot breath ghosts over his ears as a pair of strong arms come around his neck and the barista his curving himself over his back to rest his head atop Seokjin’s. 

 

“I’m fine here. You can finish.” the barista teases as he presses a kiss to the top of his head, and Seokjin can’t help but smile softly. It’s endearing, the way he always seems to know just what Seokjin needs, whether it be a hot latte, a massage after a late night when they share closing duties, or the occasional night when Seokjin gives into weakness and takes Mark home with him.

 

He doesn’t think tonight will be any different.

  
  


Seokjin closes the book, tossing his pen down and allowing himself to enjoy the scrape of teeth over his ear, the strong hands on his hips as Mark tries to draw him away from work. Luckily, this time he’d been able to finish his duties, granted the writing in the books was a bit shaky with the desire that’d been thrumming in his nerves. Mark takes the opportunity as Seokjin stands, one hand never leaving his side as Seokjin grabs his own bag.

It’s relinquished within a moment as the barista takes it and shrugs it on over his shoulder like a true gentleman. He allows Seokjin to turn off the lights as he waits by the door, filtering in the sharp clatter of rain on tin rooftops, the way it splatters across the cobblestone roads. It’s gorgeous even if it’s night, the way they drip down the ornate statues, or how they seem to coat the entire city in a calm that absorbs the commotion. 

 

There’s not a lot of time that Vatican City isn’t busy, but when it’s this dark, this late at night.. It’s like he is the only person in the world as he steps out into storm. Thunder cracks through the quiet space of the night as Mark turns and locks the door, slipping his hand into Seokjin’s as he tucks the lanyard of keys into Seokjin’s jacket pocket as Seokjin pops open the umbrella. 

 

“Sunshine.”

 

Seokjin hums as Mark breaks the silence, turning further into the younger man as a small smile tugs at his lips. The barista wraps an arm around his broad shoulders as headlights wash over the building ahead, and they watch as a cop car slowly traverses it’s way down the road towards them before it stops next to them.

 

“Excuse me.” comes a deep voice, stopping the two as the officer rolls down his window.

 

They turn towards him, a burly man with a thick black mustache and angular features. Seokjin tries not to laugh at the resemblance he has to the nintendo character, Mario. “Yes, sir?” Mark speaks first, beating Seokjin as he opens his mouth, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he steps out from the safety of the umbrella. The man’s dark hair is almost immediately drenched, and he moves closer, allowing the umbrella to cover him as he exchanges a few words in Italian with the officer.

 

It takes several minutes, with words that Seokjin doesn’t know, but he catches the words  _ danger  _ and  _ possible break ins _ from the officer. Mark thanks him when the officer tells them to keep an eye out in english, before rolling up his window and leaving the two with nothing but the harsh storm to keep them company. Mark turns, a soft smile playing at his lips as he steps back into Seokjin’s space and places a gentle kiss to his forehead.

 

“Shall we go?”

  
  
  


_ Mood: Got7- Fly _

 

_ Triple H Bar, Seoul, South Korea _

 

“See! I fucking told you, didn’t I?!” Hyuna cheers, lifting the bottle of tequila over her head as a song plays loudly over the radio. Jungkook isn’t paying attention, too busy standing on the bar as he dances along the the music that pounds it’s way into the small space of the bar.

 

Namjoon laughs a bit to loudly, downing the shot that’s placed in front of him. The alcohol sears it’s way down his throat as he moves in his seat, a gentle saw of broad shoulders as he watches his young friend enjoying himself. Hyuna had indeed been right this time, and they had closed the bar in celebration. Now he, Hoseok, and Jungkook were all hyped up. Hoseok pauses in his dancing as something catches his attention in his back pants pocket. The man's brows furrowed softly before he's laughing excitedly as he types baby quick text to whoever texted him on his silver smartphone. The device buzzes thrice more, the man shooting off text messages before he tucks the device back safely into his back pocket. The music is seemingly grtting louder, pressing insistently gainst his skull. Its humming in their veins as liquor floods their systems. It’s a gorgeous feeling, the way it slowly lowers your inhibition, the way it makes everything more vibrant, and glorious.

 

The alcohol has been being tossed back for almost an hour, Namjoon only excusing himself for a brief moment to the bathroom. The lights are dim in this one, and he takes the joint from his pocket. The clink of a lighter is loud in the bathroom as he flips open his zippo lighter, the one with his initials engraved into it from his military days as he inhales deeply.

 

The tip of the joint flares up,  smoke flaring up in his lungs and burning behind his eyes. It’s calming, the way it seems to wash over him in a wave of comfort, pushing away the effects of the alcohol. He’s always preferred the cloud of marijuana over alcohol, bringing back to many memories of his ex partner. The one who’d left without discussion.

 

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass sounds on the other side of the bathroom door, followed by a body thumping onto the ground. Namjoon curses under his breath as he hastily extinguishes the joint, ashing on his shirt and cursing at the hole it burns into the crisp white. The ember is still hot, trailing across his skin in a blaze of tiny fire.

 

It burns.

 

Namjoon pushes the door to the bathroom outward, and is immediately greeted by harsh laughter at the sight of Jungkook on the floor, hand pressed to his forehead and a shattered bottle of expensive vodka next to him. Hoseok and Hyuna have doubled over, shaking violently with the force of their laughter as Jungkook attempts to stand. 

 

“Okay, I think it’s time to go home.” Namjoon is the voice of reason, though complaints ring out from the laughing trio. Namjoon shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips as his hand wraps around Jungkook’s offered up arm and pulls him up. He staggers with the alcohol flooding through his system, offering Namjoon a lopsided grin that’s all plush lips and bunny teeth as his strong hand digs into his arm. 

 

“M’kay, Joonie. C’mon Seokie! Daddy says we gotta go!” Jungkookie wails as he throws his arm around Hoseok’s neck as he comes closer. They lean on each other, thanking Hyuna for all she’s done for them, stating they’ll come back the next night to finish celebrating.

 

_ Don’t leave me _

_ For even in this dark _

_ Of night _

_ The fire that is you _

_ Burns into my soul _

_ And ruins me _

 

_ Mood: BTS- Don’t Leave Me _

 

When they step out onto the street, they’re greeted by the wail of sirens, bright lights washing over the tall buildings as the door slams shut behind them. Several ambulances whirl past them in a flurry of bright lights and noise, and Namjoon barely notices that they’re walking the same path that the emergency vehicles are following. There’s something tugging at the back of his mind. A moment tugging at the very core of his being, the way it digs into his skin and becomes a low thrum until it buzzes into his ears and demands his attention.

 

It’s tugging at his heartstrings, filling his mind with every step he takes closer to their small house. The night is dark, consuming every bit of light as they walk down the sidewalk, gazes tipped to the sky to take in the slightly polluted night sky. But not Namjoon. His gaze lingers as several firetrucks race by, people tugging on their gear and the sharp echo of the horn echoing into the night. A mantra starts in his mind, repeating over and over again as they near their turn. 

 

The moment is there, and in the moment all Namjoon can think is:  _  Don’t turn right. Don’t turn right. _

 

The firetrucks turn right.

 

Namjoon tugs at Hoseok and Jungkook’s arms, dragging them along behind him as he races to follow the emergency vehicles.

 

And is immediately filled with regret.

 

The house is up in flames, consuming everything in its path. There’s flames licking up the pale white of the house, scorching it in black and curling darker smoke into the night air. Staff are running screaming out of the house with Jungkook’s belongings, the most basic necessities. Expensive paintings. Suitcases filled with clothes. Lockboxes filled with money. Even Jungkook’s dog manages to escape the blaze, bolting out the door. 

 

Firefighters are rushing around, turning on hoses and attempting to put out the blaze. Everyone’s things are being brought out, but as Namjoon pours over the pile of his belongings that has been dumped in the yard, panic begins to set in. His guns, his clothes, even his stack of papers that have all contacts, information, and even his laptop are heaped into a pile. 

 

Everything except for one thing. The most important thing.

 

Before anyone can stop him, people’s hands clawing at his arms as he jerks away and towards the burning house, he’s running. Strong hands dig into the fabric of his jacket, but he rips away, grabbing one of the wet blankets from the staff as they exit the building in a fit of coughing. 

 

Everything is burning. The vibrant orange and red lick up the pale walls, devouring everything in sight. The smoke curls against the ceiling, the light and heat reaching out to claw at Namjoon but leaping back as if stung by the sopping blanket he covers himself with. His room is at the back of the house, towards the underground garage. It’s hard, everything is bright, and it’s disorienting to his impaired mind.

 

“You can do it.” 

 

The voice sounds in his mind, pushing him forward. He’s running, hand burning as he presses the blanket onto a fallen support beam and leaps over it. The movement causes the burning ceiling to start to collapse above him, and he pulls the blanket over his head as he rushes forward right as the ceiling comes crashing down. It catches on him, pinning the blanket and tearing it from his grip as he continues onward. 

 

Everything leads up to this moment. As Namjoon bursts into his room, he’s greeted by a massive swirl of flames, blocking his view. It’s eating its way across his furniture, across the floor. But at the end of the room on his nightstand is a picture frame, untouched. 

 

He races forward, fingers curling over the heated metal frame, hissing as he jerks his hand back. It burns, but he needs it. It’s all he has left.

 

Namjoon curls his fingers around the frame, holding it close to himself as adrenline surges into his system. It reminds him of when he was in the military, dodging bombs and pulling himself away from danger as he leaps through the fiery doorway. An explosion sounds nearby, and the only way out is consumed by flames. There’s no way he’ll escape, eyes squinting against the harsh light.

 

The squeal of tires sounds from beneath his feet, and his eyes widen. 

 

_ The garage. _

 

Namjoon feels a sudden burst of energy as he jerks forward, slamming open the emergency exit and practically flying his way down the stairs. There’s hardly any flames down here, but as soon as he opens the door and sends a new flush of air into the stairwell they seem to explode, heat rushing up and blasting across his frame even as he leaps down the stairs.

 

Namjoon takes them two at a time, careful not to twist his ankle as he lands on the bottom platform. His hand touches the metal door that leads to the underground garage, wincing slightly at the burn of hot metal. But he’s determined. He will survive, will go on. For Jungkook. For Hoseok.

 

For himself.

 

The door smashes against the brick wall at the force of Namjoon’s kick, the force of the explosion in the stairwell forcing him forward into the garage. The squeal of tires echoes into the concrete structure, the only place untouched by the fire. 

 

A black Mercedes Benz E-Class whips around the corner, tinted windows rolled all the way up to disguise the driver. An uneasy feeling is twisting in Namjoon’s gut as his gaze remains fixated on the drivers window, brows furrowing as he thinks he catches sight of dark black hair. He doesn’t have much time to ruminate on it as he’s shoved forward by a solid force colliding with his back. 

 

The body stumbles slightly, falling to the floor before they’re shoving themselves to their feet. The window slowly rolls down, but Namjoons gaze is glued to the blonde man dressed in form fitting black jeans and  tight black t-shirt. The man holds his intense stare for a moment before he’s racing back around to the passenger side, flashing the middle finger as those plump lips pull up into a sinister smile before he drops into the passenger seat.

 

Namjoon finally drops his gaze from the empty space and to the open window, breath hitching in his throat at the sight of the black haired man with a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel and the blonde haired man who reaches across the center console to obviously slip the familiar zippo lighter into the mans front shirt pocket before he’s murmuring something in his best friends ear and the flash of the man he once knew is gone as they pull away in a swirl of smoke.

 

Namjoon is running before he can tell his body what to do and his fingers are reaching out as his voice screams out into the night as he breaks out onto the cool night street. 

  
  


“Yoongi!”


	3. Fernweh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House of Cards knows every police agency.
> 
> They know the ins and outs, the inner workings, the routines.
> 
> But they don’t know Bangtan Secret Service.
> 
> But Yoongi does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all sorry this took so long.
> 
> Enjoy this almost 20k chapter. There's a lot that's covered in this chapter that's important for future events so make sure you're paying attention! You can send me your theories and whatnot to my Twitter @KingofGaysMYG 
> 
> Remember kids, kudos and comments keep fic writers alive.
> 
> Love you let's do this!

**_Chapter Three: Fernweh_ **

  


_Venice, Italy_

 

_18 HOURS LATER_

 

Namjoon felt like he was going to pass out, the exhaustion washing over him in gentle waves and slowly becoming more and more prominent against the shores of his mind. Jungkook was passed out in the seat next to him as the town car drove them, his black hair fanned out over his tan face. Hoseok was busy texting away on his black phone, taking phone calls and talking in a hushed voice at the far end of the car. The dim light of the morning shone through the windows, casting faint glows and sparks of light across the otherwise black interior. It drew him in, but Namjoon couldn’t sleep. Not after the danger they’d just survived.

 

They had the bare essentials. Money. Clothes. Weapons.

 

The rest, the material things, had been left behind to be gathered by Jungkook’s family. It was tense when they’d left, the worried faces of the Jeon Clan elders flickering around the scene of burnt destruction. The complete and utter consecration of the youngest heir’s abode took a toll, showing that the Jeon clan was weak in some areas. They weren’t. Someone had let Jimin in. Given him access codes, passes, possibly even an ID badge. The fire had started in three places. The kitchen, the furnace room, and the basement.

 

It had only gone downhill from there. And Namjoon had a good idea of who was responsible.

 

The look on Yoongi’s face had been one of set indifference as he stared with cold dark eyes at Namjoon, and it was then that Namjoon realized that Yoongi had become someone he didn’t recognize. There were brief thoughts of he’s been brainwashed, that he was being held captive. But the dark smirk that tilted up those familiar lips on that once friendly face told a different story.

 

Yoongi was deadly. Fatal. He’d turned.

 

The man Namjoon had gone to the academy with, who he’d been friends with for years was nowhere to be seen.  The way he’d stared at him with utter contempt and without a flicker of remorse for what he was doing pushed Namjoon that last little bit. He hoped one day Yoongi might return, having learned the errors of his ways after eloping to America with his criminal boyfriend.

 

But now he realizes that it’s not the case. Hoseok makes a low sound into his black smartphone, the way his brows furrow as he glowers down at his phone tells a different story from the bright smile he forces onto his face as he tucks the device into his inner jacket pocket. Namjoon’s almost too tired to return the look, but he manages a soft upturn of lips, cheek dimpling as his eyes crinkle slightly. Jungkook stirs as the car lurches over a pothole, the crunch of earth slowly coming to a stop as the town car slows and they pull up in front of a small white house bracketed by two larger buildings.

 

It’s framed in black, the windows outlined in that same dark shade, while the rest of the manor is a surprisingly flawless shade of snow. The way it stands out amongst the other colorful buildings of Venice, but blends so perfectly with the other vibrant colors that it seems almost like it belongs there. Namjoon knows otherwise. Beyond those shimmering white walls of its exterior, lays a mountain of secrets, compiled from years, decades, maybe even centuries of discovery and research.

 

Namjoon jerks at the sudden insistent nudging against his side, startling him from his examination of the surroundings as Jungkook finally awakes. “We ‘here yet?” the way he speaks it’s obvious he’s worn down, completely spent.

 

Hoseok grunts a reply, a mumbled ‘ _shut up and move, my legs hurt_ ’ as he jokingly pushes at the younger with a sock clad foot. Namjoon briefly wonders where the mans shoe is, but returns his attention to the task at hand as he clambers out of the town car, light brown hair whipping about his head. There’s the soft clacking of their drivers shoes against the cobblestone, and a gentle swish of clothes and a groan as Hoseok fixes his shoes back onto his feet. Namjoon’s own body complains against the stretch of muscles from sitting for too long.

 

“Yeah, Kook, we’re here. Come on.” Namjoon smiles and leans down, ruffling his hand through the youngers hair as he pulls him up from the leather seat. It squeaks under the movement, and Jungkook seems to wince at the strange sound before thanking the driver for delivering them to their destination safely. The trunk pops, a soft beep as it opens, and it’s almost pitiful the amount of things they actually brought.

 

Hoseok had packed a good amount of clothes, but the large duffel bag was mostly full of money and various weapons and files. Jungkook had packed mostly clothes, with the exception of his two custom 9.4 mm pistols tucked safely into the lockbox, a good stack of cash that took up part of the compartments, and maybe a picture or two. There was an old notebook, worn and yellowed pages fraying at the edges tucked safely on the top, the binding coming undone slightly from use. His grandfather's, full of solved puzzles and answers pointing the direction to resolution.

 

Namjoon had packed the most. One small duffle bag- his go bag- that already had a weeks worth of clothes in it. His briefcase- filled with files that needed reviewing, his passports, credit cards, and a few rolled up wads of cash equaling up to $25,000-, and a massive duffel bag- weapons, rope, climbing gear, and a small notebook filled with contacts and numbers of colleagues in cases of emergencies.

 

There’s a brief moment where Jungkook is walking slowly up the walkway, drawn back only by Hoseok's noisy complaining as he heaves the items over his shoulders and hands the remaining bags to his companions. They almost seem hesitant, but are quick to grab them when Namjoon teasingly acts like he’ll throw their belongings into the river.

 

Even with the tense atmosphere considering the circumstances they find themselves in, Namjoon still feels the calmness of travel alleviating. There’s work to be done, sure, but there’s also the excitement of exploring new locations far from home. There’s the subtle intention of abandoning their posts at the manor and going sightseeing, but the pressure of getting settled in is more urgent than exploration.

 

They move up the cobblestone steps slowly, almost hesitant as Namjoon pulls his glock from the inside of his jacket, aiming the weapon away from himself as Hoseok unlocks the door. They throw it open, ducking to the side of the door in case it’s rigged. Of course, nothing happens, much to Jungkooks disappointment if his huff and grumble of ‘how uneventful’ is anything to go by. It’s an easy way to get into one’s head, the rush of adrenaline and the threat of danger. They’d had enough of that in Namjoon’s opinion.

 

Hoseok is the first to enter, bag shucked over his shoulder as he raises his own weapon, sweeping the entryway before moving further in. Namjoon follows close behind, choosing instead to deposit his belongings onto the floor alongside the marble staircase. He watches amusedly as Jungkook scoffs at their overly thorough examination of the house, rolling his eyes and instead heading upstairs to choose a bedroom for himself.

 

The walls of the manor, unlike the exterior of pure white, is decorated in vibrant reds and oranges. There’s the occasional splash of baby blue and a seafoam green as they sweep through the different rooms, though most of the premises appears to be filled with tattered boxes full of what they can only assume is solved clues and old puzzles. There’s a large office at the far end of the manor, something that must have once been a master bedroom, for the three massive oak desks are hidden under maps and various old manuscripts. The wood floor is worn in some places, as if someone had spent hours pacing back and forth in one spot.

 

There’s red string crisscrossing across the room from one piece of art to another, a few scribbles of longitude and latitude, a massive red scribble of an exclamation in a language Namjoon recognizes as Latin on a giant angel sculpture picture. There’s a location scrawled along the bottom of the blown up photograph.

 

_‘Vatican City, Rome, Italy’_

 

Namjoon stares at the familiar handwriting, brain wracking over the different options the location could mean, along with the connection to the sculpted angel. There’s a faint clap of footsteps along the wood floors that reaches his ears, though the pattern isn’t something he recognizes.

 

“Master Kim, I presume?”

 

Namjoon whirls around, lifting his glock in front of him and aiming at the newcomer. It’s a man he doesn’t recognize, not fully, but the man appears to be unarmed as he holds his hands in front of himself. He seems strangely unperturbed by having a gun aimed at himself, but he raises his eyebrows and shifts his shoulders nonetheless until Namjoon lowers the weapon slightly. “Who are you?”

 

The man bows slightly, and Namjoon takes the time to take in his appearance. Sharp angular features smoothed out by soft eyes and an even softer smile. Neatly combed auburn hair, parted slightly to reveal a flash of forehead. He’s tall, and the way his black dress shirt fits across his torso it’s obvious it was tailor made. The black slacks are the same, an expensive brand that fits to the mans form perfectly and paired off with a pair of Italian leather shoes. The sparkle of rings along his fingers briefly catches his attention before he’s drawn back in by the man straightening and the deep voice he had heard briefly before greets him again.

 

“Terribly sorry, sir. Park Hyungsik. I am the keeper of the manor, and Bo-Rhee’s personal assistant until his recent passing. I tend to the house, make sure everything is safe and secure and as it should be.” the man- Hyungsik- adjusts the front of his shirt, squaring his shoulders as he moves away from the doorway and into the room. Namjoon hesitates for a moment, seeming to contemplate what the man has said before he reholsters his weapon. Hyungsik gives him a slight upturn of lips in response as he moves to the blown up photo of the angel, fingers trailing along a red thread until he taps his finger against the image.

 

“What’s with the angel?”

 

Hyungsik turns slightly, a brow raised in question as he drops his hand away and pulls a note from his back pocket. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, the others are awaiting your presence. We can speak of this later once you’ve all settled in and eaten.”

 

Hyungsik leaves no room for Namjoon to debate as he places a large hand on his shoulder and guides him- more of a shove, really, in his opinion- towards the door. The lights flicker off behind them as the enter the hallway and the descent back down the marble staircase.

 

The others are indeed awaiting his presence, as they’ve set up shop on the dining room table. Hoseok has his laptop open, weapons laid neatly along a side table, their files in neat stacks along one side of a end table. There are multiple electronic devices spread out around Hoseok’s laptop, and the red haired man's face is set as if in deep thought as he types away. Jungkook is sitting off to the side, standing idly by the large bay window that overlooks the river and sipping away at what Namjoon assumes is mint tea if the sharp scent is anything to go by. “So, what have we learned?” Namjoon asks as he takes his belongings from Hyungsik as he reappears into the room. He unpacks his own devices and weapons and lays them aside his partners, setting up his laptop across from Hoseok.

 

Hoseok casts him a side-eyed glance, a slight hint of a smirk playing at his lips as he nods towards Jungkook. The look on the younger mans face is slightly distant, brows furrowed in deep thought before he takes a long sip of the liquid in his cup. “Kook received a text from his brother.”

 

The simple statement sends red flags up in Namjoon’s mind, shifting uncomfortable where he stands as his gaze flickers between Hoseok and Jungkook. Hoseok lifts the phone from the table, hooked up by a usb cord to show Namjoon a string of text messages from none other than one Jeon Hyukwon.

 

**Big Bro 7:17am**

_You should have died in that fire_

_There’s no where you can run. THat treUasure is mine! By birthright!_

_GIve up the cryptex and the manor and I’ll call them off._

_if you don’t I’ll find the treasure and I’ll have them kill you._

_Mom and dad will be sad, but I dont give a shit. That should’ve been me._

_House of Cards will destroy everyhing you’ve worked hard for_

_and take the treasure for me_

 

Namjoon snorts, the older man obviously drunk if the way his misspelling and erratic sentences is anything to go by. The name House of Cards catches his attention, brows furrowing as he moves closer to look over Hoseok’s shoulder. There’s murmured words between the two, the sharp clack of the keyboard as Hoseok follows instructions as he types the name into the search engine. There’s nothing in the Korean database, so Namjoon offers up the international database code instead when Jungkook’s voice interrupts them.

 

“He’s drunk. Mindlessly threatening us to try and get us to give it up. I don’t think he’d actually try to kill us.”

 

Hoseok snorts next to him, leaning back in his seat and shoving both of his hands through his fiery hair. His body shakes with the effort he exerts to not burst into laughter, while Namjoon heaves a heavy sigh and drags his tongue along his lower lip. “Kook, it’s clear he actually meant it. He burned down the house. I mean, yeah, we weren’t home. But we were supposed to be.”

 

“And Jimin did it. That’s what you said.”

 

Namjoon nods, shoving a long fingered hand through his hair as his heart rate picks up slightly at the mention of the blonde man. The sight of his best friend behind the wheel of a getaway car, the hard look on his face as if he doesn’t recognize Namjoon at all. The smirk from Jimin as he tucked Yoongi’s matching lighter into the man's front pocket and brushed plush lips across the sharp jaw before they’re peeling away from the garage. The sting in his muscles as he forced himself forward, hands clinging tightly to the picture frame as he attempts to follow them. The way his voice echoes into the night along with the wail of sirens before he looks down at the frame in his hands.

 

Himself, eyes bright and dimples on full display as he smiles, pulled down by Yoongi’s arm around his neck as he pulls the man down, ruffling his pink hair atop his head as his own mint hair reflects in the sunlight as they walk down the street. It was taken by Jungkook on a warm summer day, when nothing bad had gone wrong for weeks and they were taking time to relax in Jeju island. It had been a wonderful time, one of happier days where worries where far and few inbetween. The sun shining bright above them as the trio raced around the beach, throwing sand and eating ice cream by the shore.

 

“Got it!”

 

Namjoon jumps, knocking Hoseok slightly before he rights himself and leans over the other man. “What’d you find?”

 

“See for yourself.”

 

On the screen is a file labelled House of Cards; Extremely Dangerous! It’s followed by pictures of three men, one of whom Namjoon recognizes painfully well, though the file lists the organization as four members, not three. He clicks the file, and the screen is filled with pages of police reports and incidents, robberies, murders, supposed suicides, breaking and entering. You name it, it was in the file. Namjoon skims over it, though one line stops him dead in his tracks and his heart to lurch into his throat, though he reads aloud for everyone to hear.

 

**_Name: Min Yoongi._ **

**_Tag; King of Hearts_ **

**_Gender; Male_ **

**_Place; Sharpshooter- able to hit a target straight on from greater distances than military records._ **

**_Joined four years after House of Cards came into play_ **

**_Former military service._ **

**_Previously employer;  Bangtan Secret Service._ **

**_Graduate; Seoul National University in technical engineering._ **

**_Previously treated;  PTSD, Minor OCD, Depression_ **

**_Appearance; varies. Blue stone ring_ **

 

**_Extremely dangerous kill on sight._ **

 

Namjoon pauses, eyes wide as he takes a look at Jungkook. His hands have a white knuckle grip around his mug, jaw set and the vein in his neck is prominent as he listens on. The young heir says nothing, giving no indication that Namjoon should stop as he lists off the things he is wanted for. It’s a long list, ranging from stealing a car (basic), to arms dealing. The pictures they have of Yoongi all include one glaringly obvious point of interest.

 

A silver and wood ring on a gold chain around his neck.

 

**_Relationship Status; Married- Park Jimin_ **

 

Namjoon can feel his temper flare, his nostrils flaring as he pushes himself away from the table and scrubs a hand down his face. The sudden movement startles Jungkook, liquid sloshing from his cup and onto the impeccably clean floor. “M-married? To that guy from the party?”

 

“It appears so, sir. Fuck, if I’d known he’d get all wrapped up in this fucking shit I never would’ve allowed him to go.”

 

Jungkook flashes a look of slight shock, though it disappears a moment later, Namjoon furrowing his brows as he turns back to the computer. Hoseok has pulled up Jimin’s file.

 

**_Name: Park Jimin_ **

**_Tag; Queen of Spades_ **

**_Gender; Male_ **

**_Place; Assassin- knows weak points of human body. Prefers knives to guns. Will kill slowly but efficiently._ **

**_Recruited by [redacted]_ **

**_Graduate; Busan University of Foreign Studies_ **

**_Previous employers; not found_ **

**_Treated for; psychopathic tendencies, intrusive thoughts, anxiety, psychotic episodes, minor hallucinations_ **

**_Special traits; Eidetic memory_ **

**_Appearance; beautiful. Blonde hair. Black velvet choker._ **

**_Relationship Status; Married-  Min Yoongi_ **

 

**_Extremely Dangerous kill on sight._ **

 

Namjoon tries to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind as he nudges Hoseok to move from his spot in the chair. The oder man hesitates for a moment before he pushes himself back and moves to sit beside Namjoon in the chair next to him. He pulls the chair up behind him as he moves to sit, scowling as he nearly misses the chair from Hoseok kicking it a bit out from under him. “Hey fuck you.”

 

“Suck a cock, Joon. Finish reading so I can do my job.”

 

**_Name; Kim Taehyung_ **

**_Tag; Jack of Diamonds_ **

**_Gender; Male_ **

**_Place; Thief- can pick a lock in 37 seconds. Kleptomaniac._ **

**_Recruited by [redacted]_ **

**_Graduate; Daegu Technical University_ **

**_Previous employers; not found_ **

**_Treated for; sex addiction, pathological liar, alcohol dependency, gambling addiction, OCD_ **

**_Special traits; Hacker, Vegetarian, Excellent negotiating skills_ **

**_Appearance; brown hair, blue eyes, Gucci watch_ **

**_Relationship Status; single_ **

**_Extremely Dangerous kill on sight._ **

 

“All of these say kill on sight, what the fuck. Does Yoongi even know what he’s gotten himself into? Jesus.” Namjoon shoves a hand through his hair in exasperation, collapsing against the back of the chair as he pushes his tongue against his cheek. Hoseok raises a brow and slides his tongue against his lower lip as he leans across the table to peek at the laptop. There’s tapping in the form of Hoseok drumming his fingers along the table, his free hand reaching across the table to scroll down. There’s one more member, though from what Namjoon can read there’s not much to see.

 

**_Name; Unknown_ **

**_Tag; Ace of Clubs_ **

**_Gender; Unknown_ **

**_Place; Founder_ **

**_Recruited; founder_ **

**_Graduate; Unknown_ **

**_Previous Employers; unknown_ **

**_Treated for; unknown_ **

**_Special traits; Meticulous, Fatal- no one has seen their face and lived-, has served military service?_ **

**_Appearance; Unknown- master of disguise, a ghost_ **

**_Relationship Status; Unknown_ **

**_Notes; The Ace is extremely dangerous. If identity is discovered, abandon mission immediately. Suspected PTSD. Possible degree in law or engineering. Nothing is known about the Ace except what is in this file. They remain hidden, in the shadows. A ghost._ **

 

Namjoon scrolls through the list again, going over the file again and again until it’s embedded in his brain. He can see Yoongi’s face, a candid photo of him with bright blue hair in a crowd at what seems to be an expensive gala. There’s a photo of Jimin, looking as gorgeous as ever in a pressed suit. There’s Yoongi behind him, followed by a man Namjoon recognizes as Taehyung from his photo.

 

“They sound like a bunch of clowns. Hardly any education. There’s not much to go by for the Ace, I think that might just be a trojan horse to take attention away from Yoongi. Otherwise they would’ve killed him onsight. Or, they are waiting to kill the other three until the Ace reveals themselves.”

 

Namjoon turns to face Hoseok, turning his laptop back to him as he speaks. His partner has a point, the way they say to abandon the mission instead of killing on sight. It implies that the person themselves is an assassin of sorts as well, the body count alongside their file a whopping 13. 13 police agents. Interpol, FBI, CIA, Scotland Yard.

 

All had been killed, the person was indeed a professional. There has to be an aspect of military service for a person of that skill to take on 13 different people with different skill sets from different agencies.

 

They hadn’t met the members of Bangtan Secret Service yet.

 

There’s the subtle feeling that there are eyes on them, the way everyone shifts into an uncomfortable silence. Hyungsik sits slightly off to the side, going through a leather notebook and writing things down on a notepad of things for them to go over later. The feeling sweeps over them, but even though none of them say anything, the anxiety settles into their very beings and draws them into a sense of false calm.

 

House of Cards knows every police agency.

 

They know the ins and outs, the inner workings, the routines.

 

But they don’t know Bangtan Secret Service.

 

But Yoongi does.

 

_There comes a time_

_Where everyone_

_Must let go of the_

_Things they love_

_To become someone_

_Who they love_

 

“Sir.”

 

Jungkook looks up from where he’s standing by the floor to ceiling window that strikes bright light across the yellowed pages of notes and puzzles. Hyungsik stands in the doorway, ever present notebook in hand as he moves into the room and hands the massive book in his other hand to him. His brows furrow slightly as he takes the black leather bound book, but smiles when he sees the words _Inventory_ scrawled in his grandfather's handwriting along the inner cover. “What’s this, Hyungsik?”

 

The man moves closer, hovering over Jungkook slightly as he lifts his hand to brush long fingers across the yellowed pages, stopping at the main three items listed on the top. There’s a painting, one of catholic ancestry, the Cryptex- a stone cylinder with eight circles with the full alphabet on each circle that requires a password to be opened, and something called THe Voynich Manuscript.

 

“These three items are the final keys to the puzzle sir.” Hyungsik brushes against Jungkook’s shoulder, and he can almost smell the mint that the elder had been eating earlier. The sensation prickles along his skin, sparking goosebumps along his flesh as he tries not to pay too close attention to the man standing so close to him. He’d be a foold to say he hadn’t noticed how handsome the older man was, and Jungkook could see several strands of white hair in the mess of brown with how close he was.

 

“Alright, and where are they? I’d like to get started as soon as possible.” Jungkook straightened and moved away slightly, clearing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat as he stepped to the side, setting the book down among the mess of papers littering the desk in the middle of the room.

 

Hyungsik follows close behind, but chooses instead to stand on the other side of the desk. “That’s the problem, sir.”

 

Jungkook frowns as he’s shifting through papers, pausing and gathering up the pages and stacking them in a neat pile. He’s slightly flustered, can feel heat creeping up his neck, though he marks it off as too much exhaustion and not at how he reacts to seeing his friend after almost seventeen years apart. There was a time way back when he and Namjoon had been been very young when his grandfather had taken in the son of a previous Clan alliance member. The way the man stood before him now, it was obvious it was the same boy, now grown into a handsome man from time away. The sharp features, the bright eyes. It was the same. They’d only met briefly before, spent only one or two days together before he was swept away to the Manor by his grandfather, but he recognized him.

 

“Why’d you leave?”

 

Hyungsik stiffens at the question, Jungkook not lifting his eyes from the papers he’s neatly folding. “Sir?”

 

There’s a brief pause, a flicker of a distant memory as recognition flickers across Hyungsik face. The way his sharp features soften, his shoulders sagging slightly as his professional exterior falls away and he becomes something familiar, something warm and comforting. Jungkook straightens, feels his own pull of memories from his teenage years when he and the older man before him would sit together and talk for hours.

 

“Hyungsik. I remember you. We only met briefly before, but I still remember.” Jungkook says softly.

 

Hyungsik stiffens, fingers clenching into tight fists as he inhales sharply through his nose. The way he shifts uncomfortably on his feet and presses his tongue against his cheek it’s obvious to Jungkook that he’s fighting something internally, something within himself that he dare not speak of.

 

“That was a long time ago, Jungkook-ssi, I’m surprised you still remember that. I work for your grandfather because he saved my life, and thus my life is yours by default” the way his voice cracks at the edges as he turns, jaw set as he straightens up and looks away hurts Jungkook like a slap to the face.

 

“Listen, whatever it is you think you owe my grandfather, you don’t. Just because he took you in after your clan was wiped out doesn’t mean you owe him, or me for that matter, your life. Life is more precious than that.” Jungkook slams his hand down on top of the book, watching in agitation as Hyungsik jumps before he’s straightening himself again, the hard facade from before returning full force. “But I am glad to have you here nonetheless.”

 

“Thank you, _sir._ ” Hyungsik says quietly as he moves to press his hands along the top of the desk, staring down at the inventory book that lays open on the table.

 

Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply as he shuts his eyes tight, turning away from the man to face the massive bay window. The light filters in through the stained glass border, painting the room in bright white light with flashes of color. It reminded him of the colorful car washes they would go through as a kid, the mix of bright white and vibrant color painted across the floor like the cascading soap that coated the windows of the car. “So what’s the problem?”

 

Jungkook heard the shuffling of papers behind him, the slide of a drawer and the click of what Jungkook assumed was some sort of electronic device. He turned around to find Hyungsik had pulled out a camera and a file folder. “What’s this?”

 

“The Titian painting, of Pope Paul the Third and his grandsons, has been stolen by a rich collector,” the man moves around the desk with the file folder, holding it open for Jungkook to see. There’s a photo of a man dressed in black, some Italian man that Jungkook doesn’t recognize, carrying what can only be the painting in question, draped in a black sheet and being placed into the back of a fancy car. “It holds the password to the Cryptex, but no one has been able to read it as something special is needed. A code.”

 

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he pulls away slightly, thoughts immediately racing through the different ciphers and answers his grandfather has given him throughout the years. “What kind of code? My grandfather never mentioned anything. All i know are ciphers and how to solve them and answers to puzzles I’ve never seen. What code could unlock the secret in a centuries old painting?”

 

Hyungsik seems to have a hidden agenda, because his lips curve up into a brilliant smile, though his eyes flicker with something else as he sets the folder down. “So you’re telling me your grandfather has never told you?” he says quietly as he moves to the window, pulling the curtain and casting the room into darkness. Jungkook can just barely see his outline as he moves around the room like he knows exactly where to go, hears the click of a cabinet as it’s pulled open and a heavy metal object is pulled from its confines.

 

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

 

“It only seems fitting that you not know, it’s not something that shows up in a medical exam. The defect has been passed down from generation to generation. Your father's father, his fathers father, and so on and so forth, if you would.” He sees a silhouette of something waving, which he assumes is Hyungsik moving his hand around as he speaks. There’s suddenly a flood of fluorescent light as the object Hyungsik is holding flickers on, casting the room into a glow of fuzzy and distorted purple.

 

It burns his eyes, pupils dilating before they shrink to almost nothing. His irises feel like they’re on fire, like soap has been poured into his eyes. He cries out, hands reaching up to rub at his eyes to try and wipe away the feeling, but it only dulls to a faint humm. It’s bearable, face scrunching as he rubs his hands across his face before he lowers them to squint into the darkness against the fuzzy purple blacklight.

 

Only there is no darkness. The light in the room is faint, and he can see the extraordinary smile that’s plastered to Hyungsiks face as he stares at him. “What?”

 

“Oh, nothing. Read the book.” Hyungsik nods towards the inventory book that’s on the desk. Jungkook turns, watching as the book is illuminated in a faint blue glow. The edges of the room appear black, still cast into darkness besides the fuzzy purple light, but when he turns to ask Hyungsik about the light, he finds the light travels where he looks. It doesn’t reach far, tapering off in a faint dim light as he turns. Wherever he looks, the dim light follows, as if two low powered flashlights are attached to his head.

 

“What the fuck is this? What did you do to me?” Jungkook stumbles over his words as he jerks away, body tensing as fear creeps into his senses.

 

“The code isn’t a word or an answer or a cipher. It’s a code in your DNA. A genetic defect passed down from father to son. Your eyes, they glow in fluorescent or bioluminescent light. It’s harmless, surely, though the first time the defect reveals itself can be quite painful.” Hyungsik is pacing the room, has set the ultraviolet flashlight on the desk.

 

Jungkook feels like he’s going to throw up, can feel the way bile creeps up the back of his throat and he doubles over, dry heaving and feeling his stomach contract at the emptiness. “What the fuck do you mean genetic defect? What the fuck do you mean? That’s not possible.” he wheezes, rubbing at his eyes to try and rid the light from them. There’s the briefest of sharp pain, darkness washing back over them when the man finally flicks off the flashlight as a courtesy to the young heir.

 

“On the contrary, my young man. Long ago there was a chemical called Luvisnium. It was used to harden weapons, to make clothes. All sorts of things. It’s not around anymore because it was so dangerous and many people died from over exposure. But there was one person who didn’t.” Hyungsik sweeps his arm across the desk in a flourish of grandeur, revealing an old oil painting beneath the glass that lay on top of the desk.

 

It was a young korean man, dressed in traditional Joseon garb. The background was dark with a large rock covered in what could only be bioluminescent algae. The mans dark eyes were lit up, almost as if someone had shone one of the circular lights in his eyes, and the dim light illuminated the rest of the painting in a faint white. How the chemical had caused a defect in his DNA Jungkook had no idea, but he was sure Hyungsik was going to tell him.

“The chemical mutated your ancestors DNA, and the defect wasn’t noticed until her son was several years of age. It’s been passed down to every male, through the centuries, until it reached your line.” Hyungsik points to the painting of the man as he speaks, drawing his finger along the illuminated rock before he is moving back and away to draw the curtains back and flood the bright light into the room.

 

“This is unbelievable. It’s…. inconceivable. How is this even possible?!”

 

Hyungsik raises his hands, like he’s standing at the front of a lecture hall and is about to make the most logical argument, a profound statement, but all he says is,

 

“Science.”

  


_The science of Love_

_Is just chemicals_

_In my brain_

_I wish my heart_

_Would realize that too_

 

Namjoon stares at the laptop, the way the screen reflects disorganized information against the panes of his glasses. It’s almost incomprehensible that the man he once knew is now the leader of a crime organization yet here he sits pouring over case files and bits and pieces of collected intel. There’s the tap of Hoseok typing away on his own laptop, watching as the words fly across his screen as he types out notes and plans. There’s the sound of a crash at the top of the stairs, the tumble of something falling down the marble steps and it has Namjoon pushing from his seat, Hoseok barely flinching at the sound as Namjoon retrieves his gun from the side table. “‘Seok.”

 

“It’s probably just Jungkook, Joon. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Sure enough, the young heir tumbles into the dining room several moments later, looking utterly distraught and dishevelled as he falls clumsily into a chair. His breathing is ragged as he tips his head c along the chair, letting his dark hair fall away from his face.

 

“Sir, are you okay?”

 

Jungkook looks up briefly, tongue pressing along his cheek as he inhales deeply before exhaling unnecessarily loud from his mouth. “My eyes glow.”

 

“‘scuse me?” this gains Hoseok’s attention, the red haired man lifting his gaze to turn towards the young man. “Glow?”

 

Jungkook nods in disbelief, eyes wide as he stares at the ceiling. The way his chest rises and falls rapidly concerns Namjoon as he pushes himself from his seat and moves closer, pressing two long fingers along the column of his throat to check his pulse. It’s fast, the way the heavy thump stumbles over itself as if it can’t quite catch up or seem to calm down.

 

“Glow?”

 

“Glow.”

 

Hoseok presses his laptop closed before he folds his hands in his lap. “What do you mean though?”

 

It takes a moment for the young man to shift in his seat, Namjoon stepping away as he watches the man pull what appears to be a flashlight from his pocket. “Get the lights, would you, Joon?”

 

“Yes sir.” he replies simply and pulls the curtains shut and flips the lights off and the room is cast into total darkness. The shake of two things knocking together, the soft mumble of curses as he hears Jungkook fumble for the switch on the flashlight before pale purple light floods the room. It’s not enough to illuminate the room, but it’s enough to shine across Jungkook’s face. His eyes reflect like a cats in the lavender illumination, before that subtle reflection becomes something more.

 

Something strange.

 

It’s unlike anything Namjoon has ever seen before as he watches Jungkook’s eyes light up. It’s not so much his eyes as it is his irises that reflect a pale dim light, like someone has replaced his eyes with two extremely low powered flashlights. There’s a crash which Namjoon finds is Hoseok tumbling from his chair in his hassle to get away. The man looks utterly surprised as he squints at the young heir. It’s unnerving, sets Namjoon’s warning alarms on fire as he sweeps his gaze across the room, watching as the light travels with him.

 

“What the fuck? How the hell is that even- I don’t understand what-” It’s not often that Hoseok is found speechless, so the implication that his partner can’t find the words brings a smirk to Namjoons face despite the strange situation they’re in.

 

“Genetic defect is what Hyungsik said. It hurt when he first turned on the light, but now it’s just a dull ache. Apparently way back before our ancestors buried the treasure there was a chemical called Luvisnium. It killed a bunch of people, but my super times a million great grandma survived, but it caused a mutation in her sons DNA. No one noticed till he was a sailor and they found a cave of bioluminescent algae and his eyes started to glow. It sketched people out but they let him live. He became rich because of the abnormality, but the excitement kind of died out after awhile. The mutation has been passed from generation to generation, but it’s only present in males for some reason.”

 

As Jungkook explains he hears the tell tale tapping of Hyungsik entering the room before he is placing a hand on the table and pulling open the curtains, burning all their eyes at the sudden brightness as Jungkook turns the flashlight off.

 

“The reason is it’s only in present in XY chromosomes. Because females have XX chromosome, it isn’t present. It’s all very complicated and i’m sure there’s information on it somewhere in this library of knowledge.”

 

Namjoon scratches along his jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble along skin. It’s been too long since he’d shaved and it’s starting to show in the five o’clock shadow thats darkening his face. “Well that’s cool. We’ll have to see if we can find the information.”

 

“Good luck finding it in this fucking mess.” Hyungsik scoffs before disappearing out of the room.

 

“Well, shit.”

 

_Books bring life_

_Into our world_

_And coffee is just_

_The fuel that_

_Makes it brighter_

 

_Vatican City, Rome, Italy_

 

There’s the soft presence of light across Seokjin's face as he shifts where he lays, feeling the soft fabric of expensive sheets over his skin. He can feel the dull ache in his bones, the subtle hint of overexertion settling in after a long night with hardly any sleep. A low groan sounds in the quiet space surrounding him, drawing his attention away from the serene morning twilight. He turns slightly, noticing the way the sheet is just barely covering a certain dark haired barista’s slim hips. There’s the soft dip of dimples along the small of his back, the delicate line of his spine as he is hugging the pillow. It’s a gorgeous view, one that has him humming in admiration to himself as he shifts across the bed to place a gentle kiss along the curve of Mark’s shoulder.

 

The touch isn’t much, but it’s enough to stir the young barista, making him shift on the bed and turn towards Seokjin. There’s a satisfied cheshire grin along his lips. He watches the way he stretches above his head, lean muscles flexing and enhancing the defined muscles beneath his tanned skin. There’s a scattering of moles across his skin, watching as he finally settles onto his side on the plush mattress. There’s a clock on the far end of the wall that flashes the time of 7:32am, he’s supposed to be at the library in half an hour, but he’s always found it a little hard to remove himself from Mark’s comfy apartment, always a fan of the others expensive lifestyle.

 

“Good morning, Sunshine. Did you sleep well?” Mark asks quietly as he shifts forward and drags long fingers along the line of Seokjin's hip that’s visible from beneath the sheet. The touch sends a tingle along his spine, and he can feel the way he reacts to the the suggestive brush of swirled fingertips along his skin, gooseflesh breaking out along his arms. A smirk tugs at the edges of his lips, a brief flash of teeth as Mark moves to roll onto his back and pulls the rest of the sheet off of Seokjin.

 

The cool air over his skin doesn’t do much to hinder the heat that builds as Mark sits up, sheet falling away to reveal the toned muscles of his thighs as he moves. Seokjin pointedly ignores the fact that the man is already hard, preferring to focus in on the way the morning light filters through his dark hair, casting a halo of sun around his head. He really is handsome.

 

“Yeah, I did, thanks for asking. We have an early morning you know. We should- Hey!” Seokjin startles as Mark moves over him, soft lips pressing against his. It’s not surprising to him, if not a bit jarring this early in the morning, but he kisses the him back with a languid splendor of tired early mornings. He hums, arms wrapping around the youngers slim waist as he feels his cock hardening against his thigh. They exchange a few more slow kisses, though the heat quickly builds as Mark falls pliant against him, hips rolling as he finally moves to straddle Seokjin. He’s whiny, lips kiss swollen and movements lazy from sleep as he ducks his head and trails the tip of his tongue along the shell of Seokjin's ear.

 

“One last fuck?”

 

“Guess we’re going to be late to work again. I’m not covering for you with Bam again.”

 

_Coffee and cuddles_

_Under a raincloud_

_Through a glass window_

_Who could ask_

_What time it is_

_When I’m with you_

 

“Where the fuck have you guys been? Jin, I’ve had people lined up asking when the library was going to open! I’ve got my own customers to deal with without handling your own!” The smooth voice of the cat cafes owner, Kunpimook Bhuwakul, though everyone calls him BamBam, is the first thing they hear as they enter through the open doors. Just as he said, there are customers waiting at the metal divide waiting for him to open the library. He hears the smack, and winces slightly as he hears Mark curse and the broken apologies as the two shuffle into the back of the cafe.

 

“Terribly sorry everyone. Won’t be but a minute.” Seokjin bows as he pulls up the divide, listening to the soft clatter of the gears before he’s flicking on the lights. The soft lights shine to life, casting the library with its old wood shelves and beautiful hardwood floors into a pleasant light.  The bright light of the sun makes the library look almost magical, though to Seokjin it truly is a magical place. To read stories of adventure, to immerse oneself so completely in a story that you become lost in it. You learn to yearn for that adventure, to seek out that same feeling that’s described in the pages you read. It’s no different from Seokjin as he moves his copy of Dan Brown's _Inferno_ , a classic in the library that many people bypass because of the authors controversial stories involving the Catholic faith.

 

He can see Mark across the way, standing behind the counter as he takes orders and rushes around making coffees. BamBam still seems agitated, though the man walks around and greets each customer with a bright smile and words filled with warmth as the cats meander around the cafe. The siamese from the other day is back again, this time curled up on the ledge of Seokjin's desk, tail swishing softly off the edge in his sleep. He smiles, long fingers stroking over soft fur before focusing back in on his tasks for the day. There’s a list a mile long as he shuffles through the papers on his desk.

 

Seokjin spends most of the morning organizing his desk, placing library slips in the recycling bin and sending off emails to overdue readers, reminding them that if they do not bring the book back they’ll pay a hefty fine as every book that goes missing comes out of his pocket. Some books he know won’t be returned though he’s already tallied the things up for the day as to how much loss they will have. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make Seokjin want to throw up and shake his fist at all the foreigners in his library. Mark seems to notice his frustration if the sympathetic smile is anything to go by.

 

The day goes by at a snail's pace, and he smiles as lunch time finally rolls around and he’s free to tell people that the library will be closed for the next half an hour.

  


The traffic for the cafe has slowed down as well, BamBam and Mark sitting quietly talking at a round table by the massive window at the front of the store. They already have food, so he settles for stealing some of Mark’s lunch as he sits between the two at the open chair. The customers have died down, only a soft hum of chatter in the background of maybe a handful of people sitting and petting cats.

 

“The security has been increased at the vault again. Jackson mentioned something about a big find in a raid in Venice, but they’re not saying much more than that.”

 

Seokjin raises a brow as he scoots closer, reaching across to steal a handful of fries from Mark’s plate. The barista smirks, giving him a side-eyed glance as he focuses back in on the conversation. “I heard something about a manuscript, and something about a historical painting that was recovered as well, but I believe they sold the painting to a collector up in Switzerland. What about you, Jinnie? Have you seen anything on the news? I know you’re studying Cryptology in school, don’t you think all this stuff is mysterious?”

 

Seokjin smiled softly, dropping the fry he was about to pop into his mouth. “Okay, first of all, that’s not what cryptology is. You’re thinking of something else. But yes, it is quite strange how they discovered the Voynich Manuscript and have increased security. They got it back in a raid of a deceased old man didn’t they? It was all stolen stuff, it’s not like they stole it back or anything.” he explains nonchalantly, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. He’s not wrong, in reality. With the manuscript recovered, there should be no need for increased security if it was a stolen item. They give excuses of terrorist attacks, recent robberies, murder, a many number of things for the increase of rounds the police do in the area nearest the Vatican.

 

But they increased _after_ the manuscript was recovered. Not before.

 

“That’s true. People would be pretty fucking stupid to break into the Vatican Vaults. Probably get shot on sight.” BamBam nods in agreement as Mark speaks, watching him with belated interest as he pops another fry in his mouth. Seokjin watches him closely, a slow smirk spreading up onto his lips as the man's gaze flickers between him and the barista.

 

“Darling Mark, you sweet boy.” the man’s voice is saccharinely sweet as he leans forward in his chair, propping his chin on his palm as he looks across the table with gleaming eyes. It can only mean trouble when the smirk pulls his lips further up till his teeth are on full display. Seokjin can feel Mark shifting next to him, doesn’t have to look in order to see the flush of red sneaking up his neck and coloring his face a pretty color. He settles a firm hand onto his thigh, squeezing reassuringly, though it only seems to make the barista more nervous as he shifts in his chair and looks down at his plate.

 

“Y-Yes, sir?”

 

It’s barely a whisper but it gives him flashbacks to the previous night, flushing heat into his veins at the memory and his grip tightens on the firm muscle under his hand. The gasp it elicits is a shock, but he manages to stutter out another mangled ‘ _What is it?’_ though he barely hears it.

 

“Why don’t you clean up here while Seokjin and I discuss the plans for today, hmm? Please.” Mark’s eyes widen and he stiffens up, though he melts a moment later when he realizes that he wasn’t about to be scolded for his morning activities. It makes Seokjin smirk, because if he knows BamBam, and he does quite well, it’s not over.

 

Sure enough, as the barista gathers the plates and heads towards the kitchen, he flashes him a wink before he’s calling across the cafe embarrassingly loud, “And make sure to cover up that hickey when you get to the back!”

 

The pair simultaneously burst into laughter when they hear spluttered choking and the sound of crashing plates.

 

The two men are left alone to talk quietly, the last two customers finally dispersing from the cafe and leaving them in silence despite the soft music filtering in through the cafe speakers. It’s mid afternoon, with the sun high in the sky and casting majestic shadows across the cobblestones from the intricate buildings carving work. “Seokjin, do you ever wish for more?”

 

The question draws Seokjin from his thoughts about the manuscript, a brow raised slightly as he adjusts into his seat. BamBam doesn’t repeat his question, just sits waiting for him to respond until he realizes that he probably didn’t understand and repeats himself, “Do you ever wish you were doing more? Like wish you weren’t just a librarian?”

 

He ponders the question for a moment, tongue pressing against his cheek as he thinks of all the things he has done. And all the things he hasn’t.

 

“Sometimes. But I’m a librarian, you know? It’s who I am inside, a reader. Occasionally I’m on the other side, as a writer. But not very often. I wish for adventure like any other person, to be swept off my feet and dragged into a grand adventure,” he pauses, taking a sip of the water that Mark had left untouched. BamBam hums softly, lacing his fingers and placing them over his crossed legs. “But I like my job. I like my school. I like where I live. It’s simple. I’m not in any danger. It’s an easy thing, and it’s not like I’m missing out or anything. I’d rather get yelled at by angry customers for a book we don’t have than be shot at while skiing down the side of a mountain or something. I like my life.”

 

It’s a lie. He wishes for more with all that he is, though he doesn’t let on that he’s unsatisfied with it. The other seems to accept what he says, nodding in agreement though he’s studying him with a look that Seokjin can’t quite place. He’s about to say something more, to add on that maybe he does wish to be swept off his feet like in one of the romance novels he’s read, but he’s interrupted by the sharp ring of the bell above the library door.

 

He can’t see who it is from this angle, so he excuses himself to return back to business as usual. They say pleasant goodbyes, promises to go for a drink once they close the library and the cafe as Mark is off early today. Seokjin is just turning the corner when he spots the man who had entered.

 

He’s tall, with broad shoulders, dark sandy hair, and the darkest but soulful eyes Seokjin has ever seen. He smiles softly, bowing slightly as the man does the same. “Hello, sir. Welcome to Where the Wild Reads Are, is there anything I can help you find?”

 

The man glances around, though he seems a few years younger than Seokjin, lips pursed in thought as he adjusts the way his suit rides up along his wrists. It’s gucci, if Seokjin isn’t mistaken, and tailored to fit the man in an exquisite manner. He looks good, and if Seokjin wasn’t working he’d probably flirt with him. HE has a thing for rich men, sue him.

 

“Yes, I’m looking for a specific book. I’m looking for the Strange Workings of ? Also possibly a book on the secrets of the Vatican City. I’ve heard a great many things lately and it’s piqued my interest on the history of the city.” his voice is deep and low when he finally speaks, a flash of white teeth behind plush lips. It puts him strangely on edge, the hair on the back of his neck prickling at the way he speaks in an almost overly charming way.

 

Seokjin pushes his alarm away, chalking it up to the stress of the work day and that he has to close up early tonight in order to leave with BamBam to avoid the patrols. The man hasn’t asked for anything out of the ordinary, the request is a common one as the history of Vatican City is quite complex. Being a library stationed some blocks from the Vatican and St. Peter’s Square, they obviously have the books that the man is referring to. But for some reason he hesitates in answering, hovering just behind his desk as he looks over the man again.

 

The dark sandy hair, the sharp angular slope of his jaw and the way his face seems almost perfectly symmetrical almost put Seokjin at ease, he’s always been a sucker for good looking men. The handsome face, paired with his soothing voice and immaculate suit and perfect posture. It all seems a little too perfect. A little too put together.

 

Seokjin kind of wants to wreck him.

 

“Sir? Do I need a library card? I won’t be taking it away, I would just like to look over some of them.”

 

Seokjin snaps out of his stupor, eyes focusing back in on the other as his lips curl up into a forced smile. “No, terribly sorry. You don’t need a library card if you’re just planning on perusing, but it is recommended that you have one anyway, just in case you change your mind. Would you like to file for one? We also have cards for people who travel, just a one use card but the books must be returned or we charge your bank.” He holds out a form as he speaks, offering a pen as well. The man eyes it for a moment, brows creasing and it makes him seem a little more serious, a little more.. scary.

 

“No,” the man's voice is firm, and the sudden seriousness of it kind of startles Seokjin, “I won’t be taking the books out of the library. I’m sure of that. If you could please show me where the books are, I have a previous arrangement later today and would like to get this taken care of as soon as possible.”

 

Seokjin smiles softly and offers a quiet ‘alright’ before he’s moving away from the counter, and he can feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he leads the man down the aisle of books. They’re torn and weathered, all old with frayed seams and yellowed paper. It takes them two minutes exactly to actually reach the section Seokjin is looking for, though when he finds it he gathers the books in silence as the man watches him with a slightly amused expression.

 

Seokjin deposits all the books, a total of five, three newer and two older, on an empty table near his desk. He doesn’t trust the man, still feels that bit of unease along the back of his mind, poking at him every couple minutes to ‘remain alert,’ not that he has any intention of letting his guard down. “Here you are, sir. I’m Jin, by the way. If you need anything else I’’ll be at my desk. Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

 

The man makes no move to reply, only hovers over the books and observes the covers before he’s skimming his fingers over the tops of them almost reverently. But Seokjin doesn’t move, and he finally realizes that he must be waiting for some response.

  
“Taehyung. You can call me Tae, Jin-ssi. If I need any assistance I will make sure to stop by your desk.”

 

The sudden honorific startles him slightly, though he’s not surprised by the formality. It’s nice to hear it when he’s so very far from home. Seokjin nods, exchanging tense smiles with Taehyung before he’s turning and rushing back to the safety of his desk. Mark is standing there already, a coffee in hand as he watches questioningly as Seokjin sits before handing the mug over. “You okay? You seem stressed. That guy bothering you?”

 

Yes.

 

“No, it’s fine, Mark. Just tired from last night.” It’s a lie, but he forces a reassuring smile onto his face when Mark seems unconvinced. He doesn’t want to start anything unnecessarily, the man hadn’t said anything to threaten him or to make him feel this way, but he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong about someone looking so perfectly put together.

 

Mark leaves after about twenty minutes of quiet conversation, consisting mostly of hushed words promising sex should Seokjin choose to come to his house that night. It’s almost seven, and Seokjin finds his gaze drawn back to the man- Taehyung, he reminds himself- across the room. Taehyung has his phone out and is snapping pictures of the books, open to god knows what, but he seems extremely focused in on the pages in front of him and who ever is texting him back.  There’s the soft notification sound, something that sounds like ‘bultaoreune’. Ringers are supposed to be off as a courtesy to other readers, but Seokjin would rather avoid being yelled at if he can help it.

 

Seokjin presses his tongue against his cheek before sliding it over the the plush flesh of his lips. It brings back flashes of the night, of being tangled in sheets and heated skin of Mark. The way the younger pressed close to him, dug sharp nails along his back, and the red marks were still there this morning. Evidence of his night of passion along with Marks hickeys scattered across his neck and lower where others couldn’t see. The way the barista tasted of berries and fresh coffee, how he responded so wonderfully beneath him as he pushed him past oversensitivity. How-

 

_Ding Ding Ding!!!_

 

Seokjin looked up in surprise, blinking against the harsh light from the streetlamp that had turned on outside and shone in through the door as it slowly closed. His gaze flickered over to the table where the man had been and was surprised to find it empty with the exception of the four books.

 

Wait.

 

“Ah, fuck.”

 

Seokjin got up, moving to the table to find the oldest of the five books was gone. _‘The Hidden Architecture of Vatican City’_ was the only one missing, although in its place was a note.

 

_Terribly sorry, Jin-ssi. I promise I’ll bring it back. -Tae_

 

“Fucking asshole.”

 

_This mystery_

_Is easier to solve_

_When I have a clear head_

_And maybe_

_A little bit of_

_alcohol_

 

_Venice, Italy_

 

Namjoon pours over notes and bits of yellowed paper with scrawled writing on it, occasionally taking a break to go over the notes from the inventory book. Something things are missing, there are three things on the inventory list that are not present in the manor. A manuscript, a painting, and the ever important Cryptex. He’s combed over every part of the manor with no luck, and without Hyungsik to answer his questions (he’d disappeared some time ago, mentioning something about picking up things for dinner.) But Hoseok had looked as well, with the occasional crack of a joke saying maybe someone stole them.

 

“Well fuck. Where is that damn painting?” Namjoon stands at the far wall, searching through the old canvases hanging on the wall. The one he needs is missing, though it’s not the first item. “Jungkook!”

 

There’s a curse, a pounding of muffled footsteps across hardwood floors. Namjoon can’t help the laugh that leaves him at the sound of socked feet slipping followed by a loud crash and cursing outside his door. Jungkook reveals himself a moment later, out of breath and slightly dishevelled but looking put together nonetheless. Namjoon raises a brow at his panicked expression, taking in the way the younger is dressed in a loose fitting white shirt and boxer briefs. “Where are your clothes?”

 

Jungkook looks almost confused for a moment, gaze dropping down to himself before he’s flushing a dark red and scratching at the nape of his neck. He looks almost like a timid cat, shy and flustered. “I- I was going to shower but then you called for me so here I am. What’s up, hyung?” Jungkook stutters out, adjusting the way his shirt hangs over his frame. Namjoon can tell it’s probably a lie, he was most likely going to play a video game or to- judging by his partially undressed appearance- been doing something personal that Namjoon doesn’t want to think about.

 

“Have you seen Hyungsik? I thought I heard the front door but I haven’t seen him yet and I could use some help with this damned inventory. There’s three missing items that I can’t find no matter where I look.” Namjoon gestures exasperatedly as he speaks, frowning before he leans back in his chair. It’s starting to give him a headache, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking back to Jungkook.

 

“Looking for me, Master Kim?”

 

Both men jump at the sudden appearance of the man in question, arms full of grocery bags and wallet pinched between his fingers. Hyungsik raises a brow at the two startled men, lips quirking at the edges as he steps into the room and sets the bags down on one of the only clear spaces- a couch. He looms over Namjoon as he looks over his shoulder, chest brushing against the back of his head as he reaches across and points to the three circled items. “Are these the missing items you’re talking about?”

 

“Yes. Where are they?”

 

Namjoon watches as Hyungsik presses his tongue to his cheek, pulling the book closer to himself to observe before he’s tapping his finger against the page. Jungkook stands for a moment, looking between Namjoon and Hyungsik before he’s bowing slightly and disappearing down the hall. His attention is drawn back to Hyungsik, who moves to one of the desks and picks up a newish looking notebook and flipping it open to show Namjoon as he comes back. “The painting, which I’m assuming you were looking for if the disarrayed paintings are anything to go by, was confiscated by Vatican agents and sold to a collector in Switzerland. The man, Lee Hongbin, is a collector of catholic antiquities, and paid them a great deal in order to have the painting. He’s also a big contributor  to the Vatican, paying for their repairs and providing funding should they need it for whatever.”

 

Namjoon groans loudly, scrubbing a hand down his face. This just means more work for them, more money spent unnecessarily- in his opinion anyway. “Alright so we have to go to Switzerland. Great. What else?”

 

Hyungsik flips through a few more pages and plops the notebook back down in front of him, but this time his own face mirrors the frustration on Namjoons face. “The manuscript. The Voynich Manuscript. It was also confiscated in the raid by Vatican officers and was taken back to Vatican City, where- I’m assuming- it’s in the vaults beneath the city. Locked away with all of their precious secrets. It’s a key part of the puzzle, and I don't know if we can go any further without it. So we’ll have to-”

 

“We’ll have to break into the Vatican. Great. Perfect. That’s literally impossible- are you fucking serious? How’d they even get access to this? What the hell.” Namjoon finishes for him, body heaving forward and slamming his forehead against the oak desk. He groans audibly- not so much in pain so much as frustration. “Bitch, next you’re going to tell me that the Cryptex is hidden in a statue in the middle of St. Peter's Square and I have to break a god knows how old piece of art in order to retrieve it.”

 

Namjoons complaints go unanswered, Hyungsik standing quietly by the desk. He looks almost nervous as his fingers play along the edge of the wood, teeth worrying at his lower lip as he stares at the notebook. His gaze briefly flickers up to meet Namjoons and he jerks his head, shoulders lifting up in a shrug.

 

“Are you fucking serious? Is it really? Please tell me I’m wrong!”

 

“Hit the nail right on the head actually, Master Kim.” Hyungsik pulls the note from earlier in the day from the desk drawer and lays it in front of him, a picture of which statue and how to unlock the hidden compartment scrawled in almost indecipherable handwriting across the yellowed parchment.

 

“Someone please just kill me now.”

  


_Goodbyes are_

_for me, a tear_

_Without even knowing_

_it blooms around my eyes_

_The words that I could not_

_bring myself to say flow down_

_And lingering regret crawls over my face_

 

Yoongi growls, a low sound in the back of his throat as he stares at Jimin across the bar. They arrived in the Vatican City almost 36 hours ago, and Taehyung had insisted on disappearing to immediately retrieve books on the history of the ancient city. It included going to one of the oldest libraries in the city that wasn’t owned by the Catholic church, and as for now he’d been gone for almost seven hours. He didn’t worry about what he was up to, the man was able to handle his own, skilled in negotiation and escape tactics. He was the best thief in the game for a reason.

 

A musical laugh filters back into his senses, and Yoongi finds his gaze drawn back to Jimin who is seated at the bar. There’s a man sitting across from him, a dark haired man with sharply cut features, a broad smile with soft dimples and dark lashes that make his eyes seem darker than they are. It’s a good look on the man, but Yoongi observes the man closer, noting how his drink- a whiskey on the rocks- barely has ice cubes and must be extremely watered down. He’s been there for some time clearly, but the way he’s acting it’s as if he’s pretending he’s had a few too many to drink.

 

It’s clear to Yoongi that this is not the case, and is quite obviously a ruse to try and get closer to his husband, though Jimin has also caught on if the glint in his eye as he briefly glances over the others shoulder at him is anything to go by. There’s the slight hearty laugh that sounds as Jimin says something funny, placing his hand along the mans bicep and tapping twice against the back of it with his middle finger. The man leans in and whispers something in Jimin’s ear, and Yoongi watches in amusement as his husband jerks back, mouth hanging slightly open in feigned shock and his lips turn up into a sly smile and he’s pulling the man from the bar and out onto the street.

 

Yoongi gives them a few moments then grabs his black suit jacket, adjusting it over his shoulders and tosses several bills to the waiter as he downs the rest of his champagne and follows out the door. It’s dark now, the way the moon is just starting to hover in the sky and the stars are sparkling brightly. They cast a faint glow along the street, and a few blocks down there’s a street lamp flickering. Yoongi faintly thinks that this is like a horror movie, though instead of running from a villain, he is the villain.

 

He finds Jimin in an alleyway with the man pressed up against him, back flush against the wall as they kiss messily in the moonlit alley. It’s dark, but Yoongi can clearly see the glint of his knife in Jimin’s hand. The man is too preoccupied shoving his tongue down his husbands throat to notice that Jimin has stopped responding and is instead looking at Yoongi as he quietly approaches the pair. “Jimin, who’s your friend?” his words are laced with venom, a playful lilt to them when he speaks.

 

His sudden speaking in the quiet space of the alley startles the man, who jumps visibly- it seems faked in Yoongi’s opinion- and turns to face him. His gaze is hard, brows furrowed into a dark scowl and Yoongi makes note of how his hand twitches as if to go to something on his person. Jimin swipes his tongue over the split in his bottom lip from the man being a bit too rough, humming quietly at the coppery taste of blood and pushing himself away from the wall. “This is- oh, I’m sorry Darling, I didn’t get your name.”

The man watches with an ever darkening gaze as Jimin moves to stand beside Yoongi, one hand curling protectively around his husbands wrist and dragging him against Yoongi’s firm chest. It’s what Yoongi loves, having the other close when they’re causing trouble. Though this isn’t trouble, it’s strictly business.

 

“My name is Kim Youngjae. Can I help you? We were a little busy.” the man- Youngjae?- speaks firmly, hands firmly planted on his hips as he glares at the two. Yoongi isn’t convinced, he knows a snitch when he see’s one. Or someone from a rival organization. Either way, he’s still going to kill him for even laying a finger on his husband.

 

Not that Jimin minds, he was probably going to put a bullet through the man's skull for being a bit too forceful.

 

“And who exactly do you work for, Mr. Kim? You think I wouldn’t notice the way you startled and your hand immediately went to go to your gun?” Yoongi moves closer, holding up his hand as his other pushes his jacket back, revealing the glock 45 at his hip and the magnum tucked into his shoulder holster. He pulls the one tucked into his waistband, releasing the safety and training it on the man and steps towards him. Youngjae’s steps back with every step forward he takes, holding out his hand to as if to stop Yoongi, though it really does no good as he continues his advance.

 

“What I do is none of your business. Whether I have a gun on my person is my concern, not yours. I just want to talk.” Yoongi’s surprised the man doesn’t offer up some excuse, beg for his life, or one of many other options as he finally stops to listen. He can almost feel Jimin’s gaze burning into him, tongue pressed against his cheek as he twirls a knife between his fingers. Yoongi furrows his brows in response to the admittance, because that wasn’t an answer to his question.

 

“I’ll say it again-”

 

“He doesn’t like to ask twice!” Jimin sing-songs behind him.

 

“Who do you work for? What do you want?”

 

Youngjae frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose as he sets his weight on one foot, a heavy sigh escaping his lips and he turns his face to the sky. He doesn’t want to answer, but the waiting is starting to irritate Yoongi. He pulls back the hammer on the gun. “Who I work for is none of your concern as I said. I’m just letting you know my employer is watching you. You’re in dangerous territory, treading on things that will not only lead to what you seak but something more. I can’t tell you more. It would seem your friend knows more than you do, while one of your associates has found some information that your enemy will need.”

 

The crypticness of it rubs Yoongi the wrong way, brows furrowing as he aims the gun. Youngjae jerks back, hand finally retrieving the gun from the waistband of his pants as well and clicks back the hammer. “I can’t say more than that.”

 

“Well that’s too bad because-” It’s as Yoongi is about to close the distance between them that Youngjae finally makes a move. It’s fast, a warning shot fired directly next to Yoongi’s foot. It wasn’t a missed shot, but he wastes no time adjusting his aim to shoot to kill. He’s a bit slower than the taller man, who’s built more muscular than himself and he feels a hand pressing over his wrist, twisting it sharply but not with enough force to break. There’s a split second where he registers Jimin’s high shout as Yoongi is shoved backwards, legs knocked out from under him and head slamming into the pavement.

 

The blow is enough to knock the air from his lungs, to make his head swim as his body bursts with pain as it crashes into the concrete. His vision swims as he watches from his place on the ground as he tries to flush air back into his lungs with some difficulty, but he can just barely make out Jimin throwing his knife as the man makes to leave the alley. They collide in a cacophony of shouts and grunts, Jimin barely struggling to hold his own. He’s small, but extremely strong for someone his size- a common misconception about him is that he’s weak. He’s not. Jimin lands several blows, but without his knife on hand he is left to his hand to hand combat.

 

Youngjae seems to have at least some formal training as well because he’s matching Jimin move for move, and at one point Yoongi thinks Jimin is about to get the upper hand as he lands a jab to the man's throat. He stumbles a bit, but recovers remarkably quick and full on tackles Jimin's smaller frame. Youngjae shoves him back until his body crashes against the brick wall of the bar, Jimin letting out a sharp cry as his head is whipped against the sharp stonework as Yoongi gets to his feet finally.

 

Yoongi pulls his gun as he’s running from the alleyway, firing off a shot as he chases after Youngjae, arm steady as he whips around the corner. He’s greeted by darkness on the street, brows furrowing as he makes quick work of exploring the surrounding area. There’s no luck, no sign of where the man could have gone. There’s no cars, no sound of pounding footsteps, no heavy breathing besides his own as his blood rushes in his ears.

 

“Yoongi, leave it and come help me!” Jimin calls, and Yoongi can almost hear the pain in his voice as he returns to his husbands side.

 

Jimin is sitting against the brick wall where he was shoved, blonde hair plastered to his forehead from the blood dripping from the jagged gash along his forehead. He’s covered in dirt, clothes ridiculously dishevelled. His white blouse is torn down the front, revealing the pale muscular expanse of his chest that’s dotted with sweat, and his black slacks are torn along the seam at his waist. The tear must have been from when he’d attempted to roundhouse kick the other because those tight pants were _not_ made for intense physical activity. The tears reveal a generous amount of pale blue lace that hugs over his husbands curves, peeking just above the waistband of his pants.

 

“You okay, baby?”

 

Yoongi returns the smile that’s offered to him, Jimin pulling himself to his feet and brushing himself off and groaning halfway through. “It’s been awhile since someone matched my abilities.”

 

“Yeah, I’m aware. How are you feeling?”

 

“Honestly?”

 

“Of course, baby.”

 

“Horny.”

 

 

_There’s little time_

_For questions_

_When all I want to do_

_Is bury myself_

_In you_

  


_Mood: Panic At The Disco- Say Amen_

 

Yoongi steals a glance at Jimin as they ride up the elevator, watching as his husband leans against the wall with his back arched in a delicate curve. His tongue briefly swipes over his lip, and Yoongi longs to sink his teeth into the plush flesh- but he’s never been one for exhibitionism while Jimin will take it any way he can have it. Yoongi clicks his tongue against his teeth and curves his long fingers over the rail as the elevator dings, indicating they’ve finally reached their floor.

 

As soon as he steps foot out of the elevator he’s being pushed forward, firm hands clawing at the the ends of his suit jacket. Jimin is almost desperate with the way he pulls the garment from Yoongi’s frame and makes to drop it to the floor but Yoongi catches it with a low warning not to leave his wardrobe scattered across the hotel. Jimin pouts and pushes his lips out, and who is Yoongi to deny such a sweet man? If he’s being honest he could eat him up.

 

Not that he isn’t already planning to do just that.

 

They stumble over each other on their way to their room, exchanging sloppy kisses and gentle touches as they go. The way they touch each other is a stark contradiction to the way their lips crash together in a scrape of teeth swipe of tongues. Yoongi drops the keycard on the way to the room, having to leave the doorway to retrace his steps to pick it up off the floor. Maybe he falters in his steps to see Jimin palming himself over his jeans, head fallen back against the door to reveal the pale unblemished curve of his neck. Yoongi is sure by the end of the night it will be painted in black and purple marks, and Jimin knows it as well if the way he digs his palm harder into his erection is anything to go by.

 

“Baby please…”

 

Yoongi smirks down at Jimin as he squirms around on the bed, heels digging into the sheets of their king sized mattress as he drags his tongue over his pierced nipple. The touch is hot, his husband arching up into his touch and clutching desperately at his dark locks. Yoongi has discarded his suit jacket, but still remains in his dress shirt while Jimin is completely bare besides the dark black thigh highs and torn blue lace panties that lay tattered at his hips.

 

He bites into the perked bud harshly, earning a high moan from Jimin as one hand chases down his abdomen. Jimin’s hips curve upwards to chase Yoongi’s hand, and it licks fire up his skin as he wraps his long fingered hands around Jimin’s cock. The slide is eased by the precum leaking from the tip and coating his hand while Yoongi busies himself with trailing kisses along the slope of Jimin’s collarbones. Jimin is always so responsive under Yoongi’s skilled touch, and even after so long together the younger mans moans never fail to fuel a fire inside him. It twists a white hot knife into his gut and lashes desire into his insides, leaving his cock painfully hard and straining against the confines of his black dress pants.

 

“Y-Yoongi p-please.” Jimin’s soft whimpered plea draws him from his thoughts of time long passed, and he almost immediately feels his lips curl up into a brilliant smile at the sight he’s greeted with. Jimin’s the epitome of sex like this, blonde hair a tousled mess atop his head and lips swollen from violent kisses. His skin is littered with imprints of Yoongi’s teeth and darkening purple marks from where his lips lingered a bit too long. He’s gorgeous, and Yoongi treasures the fact that he’s the one who can reduce such a powerful killing machine to a whimpering submissive mess.

 

“What is it, Doll? You need to use your words. Do you want my fingers?” Yoongi asks, though his voice comes out gravelly and thick with desire. Jimin’s tongue peeks out from behind his teeth, sliding over the plump flesh of his lower lip. Yoongi can’t resist, dipping down to bite roughly at the plushness of it and relishing in the gasp it elicits from Jimin. There’s the rush of adrenaline in both their systems, and they need to get rid of it somehow lest the tension break between them and they do something irrational. Jimin’s mouth works open and closed, words lost in a strangled moan as Yoongi tightens his grip at the base of his cock and watching as his hips arch up from the bed. He tries to get Yoongi to do something, _anything,_ though it’s fruitless as he removes his hand completely.

 

Yoongi delivers a harsh slap to the youngers thigh, brows furrowing when the younger man doesn’t answer quick enough for his liking. He whimpers, squirming more. Yoongi knows what he’s doing, knows the game he’s playing. Jimin wants to be treated roughly, manhandled on the bed and fucked until he forgets. It goes this way after hard days, with them starting off slow but passionate as they stumble to wherever their staying for that night. Exchanging heated kisses until they’re both achingly desperate and Yoongi fucks Jimin until he’s screaming and he’s voiceless for the next couple of days.

 

Jimin’s hasty shake of his head as he rolls onto his hands and knees is all Yoongi needs to disrobe, possibly faster than he has in a long time though he almost immediately regrets it with the pain that radiates up his arm. Jimin watches him over his shoulder as he wiggles his ass in the air- that perfect ass that has Yoongi almost drooling- and grinds it back as Yoongi presses his hips flush against the curve of his ass. His fingers immediately curl over the youngers hips and blunt nails digging crescent marks into his flesh.  Jimin whimpers as he feels the tip of Yoongi’s cock brush over his exposed hole, reaching across the bed towards the nightstand to grab the lube. He’s stopped by Yoongi moving back slightly and dipping his head, warm breath blowing over his entrance before he’s licking a fat stripe across his flesh. Yoongi humms appreciatively as Jimin keens almost immediately, hand faltering in the drawer for the lube and tossing it behind him at Yoongi when he finally manages to curl his fingers around the bottle. Yoongi laps at Jimin like a starved man, fingers digging into the meat of his ass so hard that he’s sure to bruise tomorrow.

 

The sound of lube squirting onto his fingers is too loud in the quiet room for Yoongi’s liking, mingling with the harsh pants and occasional whines of _‘hyung hurry up’_ and _‘please fuck me’_ from Jimin. Yoongi has never been able to deny the man a single thing and quickly gives him what he wants. Two fingers slip right in with little resistance, still stretched from their fuck in the early hours of the morning when Jimin had congratulated Yoongi for playing his part in the arson well. Yoongi is faintly aware of the begging that’s gasped into the heated air as he works Jimin open and feels his walls clench around the digits pressing against his prostate. “Fucking hell Yoongi I’m ready just _fuck me already!”_

 

“You’re going to regret that later, Doll.” Yoongi scolds, though his voice is something dark as he looms over Jimin, watching as he immediately cowers at the tone of his husband. He arches his back and presents himself to Yoongi as he presses the tip of his cock against his fluttering hole before sinking inside. It’s tight, hot, and so so wet that it has Yoongi’s head falling back, body shuddering from the effort to not just fuck into Jimin and chase his own release.  

 

Jimin shivers when a gasp is knocked from him, pressing his ass back until he feels Yoongi’s hips flush against him. They’re breathing harshly, Jimin’s low moans and high pitched whimpers a little too loud in the quiet room while Yoongi’s breathing seems a little too steady for his husbands liking. Yoongi slowly grinds in a slow circle and pulls back while Jimin claws at the bed, teasing and oh so satisfying all at once as the tip of his cock presses against Jimin’s prostate.

 

“Yoongi- _please,_ j-just f-fucking-” Jimin keens under him at the sharp thrust that has his body jerking forward and fingers scrambling for purchase on the sheets, “Fuck- just _fuck me, whore.”_

 

Yoongi stops at the harsh word uttered from his husband's lips. _Whore?_

 

Jimin knows exactly what he’s done by calling Yoongi the name, adding onto the fuel that’s already burning in both their guts. It shows in the way his lips pull back from his teeth in a low hiss, eyes narrowing as his grip becomes painful on his hips. He tangles his fingers in Jimin’s perfect hair, feeling the way it’s tangled together from the blood and sweat but it doesn’t stop him from wrenching Jimin’s head back. “Whore?”

 

“That’s what I said, baby. Fuck me, whore.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry baby. I’ll fuck you _like a whore.”_ Yoongi’s voice is dark, a salaciously malicious intent dripping from his lips before he’s setting an even harder pace that has Jimin sure to bruise. He angles his hips just so as he leans over Jimin and shoves his head into the bed as he reaches just across him and snatches his gun from his holster that’s half hanging off the mattress. He watches Jimin’s eyes go wide as he pulls his gun, examining the weapon- dark metal against his pale flesh as he holds it up.

 

Jimin whimpers and he knows he’s pushing Yoongi to where he wants him when Yoongi finally presses the barrel of it against the back of his head. Jimin knows the safety is on, knows he would never put him in danger, but it still thrills Yoongi to see the brief flash of fear in his husband's eyes as he pulls the hammer back. His pace doesn’t stop as the harsh slap of skin echoes into the room and Yoongi can smell sex and something that’s pure Jimin in the air. It’s sweat and fear and even though Yoongi knows his husband can disarm him should he actually feel unsafe and even kill him from the position he’s in is dangerously erotic.

 

They cling to each other, Yoongi trailing his gun along the sweat that trails down Jimin’s back to press the barrel firmly against the base of  his spine. The heat that’s been simmering inside him is threatening to consume both of them as the youngers moans become more desperate, more ragged as he fucks into him harder and faster. It’s pushing them both to the edge, so close but just out of reach as halogen lamps light up under his skin and along his pressure points. It seems that Jimin’s body is reacting more violently than his, fingers trailing along the most sensitive parts of his body as he presses his cock as deep as he can into him and feeling the way the tight heat clenches around him.

 

Yoongi moans Jimin’s name, a rough exaltation as Jimin’s hand reaches back and grips at his forearm, dragging the gun up until it presses against the base of his skill. Yoongi knows exactly what Jimin wants, and he moans as he flicks the safety off, and just the gentle click of the lever is enough to send Jimin over the edge.

 

He cums across the sheets in white spurts, back arching as stars light across his vision while Yoongi works him through his orgasm, the clenching of Jimin’s hole around his cock enough to pull him into oblivion with him. It’s like sailing through the darkness of the universe, an endless array of purple violet dark until the sky explodes into a gorgeous splattering of white light. It’s filled with vibrant colors as Yoongi spills himself into Jimin, the world exploding into an insane cacophony of erotic moans and brief but vivid thoughts that this is what heaven could be like.

 

Yoongi raises the gun, about to turn the safety back on, body bowing over Jimin as his husband clenches around his cock and forces his hips back in slow rolls. A shot rings out into the room as Yoongi cries out as Jimin falls away roughly with a startled yelp, followed by the frantic yelling on the other side of the closed door that now has a bullet hole shot straight through the hardwood.

 

Yoongi’s eyes widen, quickly clicking the safety on and tossing the gun across the room as the door is slammed open and an extremely angry Taehyung is storming in, blood dripping from the graze along his arm. “What the fuck, Yoongi?!”

 

Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly, adjusting himself to sit against the headboard as Jimin crawls to lay between his legs. He mouths at his cock, licking up the cum smeared along his slowly softening length as Taehyung stands scowling at them. The man has a clear view of Jimin’s gaping hole, though he stares directly at Yoongi with a scowl on his face. “Sorry. You know how the baby gets.”

 

The statement makes the thief raise his sharp brows in question, though he looks mostly amused more than anything. “Baby?”

 

Jimin lifts his head and turns towards his best friend, licking cum from the plump flesh of his lips. “It’s me. I’m the baby.”

  


_Talk is cheap_

_But writing is expensive_

_So talk your evil_

_Don’t write your words_

_Because I’m a book_

_And you’re just sixty minutes_

  


_Mood: Childish Gambino- This is America (it’s obviously not)_

 

Taehyung hums quietly as Jimin sews the gunshot graze along his arm, one hand busily writing in a notepad set on the table littered with medical supplies and books. He can feel Yoongi’s eyes on him from across the table as he thrums his fingers along the wood of the table impatiently and waits for him to tell him the reason why he’d come so early instead of texting them. Not that they’re embarrassed being caught by him, Taehyung has caught Yoongi balls deep in Jimin’s ass while he drags his knife along his back while Jimin babbled nonsense with how gone he was, at one point begging Taehyung to let him suck his cock.

 

He’s not exactly one to say no, but the cocaine in his system didn’t help him either.

 

Taehyung holds up the book, tossing it across to Yoongi when Jimin finally finishes sewing him up. There’s a minimal amount of blood painted down his arm that Jimin wipes with a wet towel and Taehyung finishes his notes and finally focuses his attention onto Yoongi’s questions. “Okay, so what’s with the book? It’s just a book full of architecture and shit. How is this supposed to help us find the- babe what was it?”

 

“The cryptex. A stone cylinder with eight dials, each with the full alphabet on each dial. You can’t break it open, or you’ll ruin the papyrus inside when the vial of vinegar breaks. You need the password.”

 

Taehyung snorts as Yoongi rolls his eyes, glancing through the book and looks up at them both over the rims of his glasses. “Yes, babe. Thank you for the history lesson. The point is how are we supposed to find it? We need more information.”

 

“I’m aware. But there’s a reason I stole this book. There’s hidden architecture. Puzzles, clues. Like a hidden compartment in the stone angels and trap doors in certain areas. So we just need to find the area, though we can always leave all of that to the boys in Venice.” Taehyung shrugs and runs a hand over his arm, wincing slightly at the pain that radiates outward from it and tries to focus on a next step. “The old guy who runs the place now-”

 

“Old guy? Brat, he’s younger than me!”

 

Taehyung stares right at Yoongi when he speaks again, tone mocking, “So tHe OlD gUy wHo rUns the PlaCe now is a mysterious individual. I looked him up, and by looked him up talked to Hyukwon about it. He’s got to have the information and locations about it. It’s only a matter of time before the others come poking around to take it. When they find it, we’ll steal it from them along with any other information we can get from them. Raid the house if we have to.” Taehyung adjusts the rolex on his wrist and finally stands as he moves around to open the book and tap his fingers on a picture of a massive angel in Saint Peter's Square. Beside it is a description of how to unlock the secret compartments of the statues in the square, though not telling which ones have the secret compartments.

 

“Okay, so we have to go through the angels in Saint Peter's Square and trigger all the angels to find the damn whatever-”

 

“The cryptex.”  


“The WHATEVER and bring it back and then wait for the others to find the password. Is that right?” Yoongi’s frustration is starting to show as he speaks, scrubbing a hand down his face to try and wipe away the weariness that is finally showing on his features from the long past 24 hours. Taehyung shrugs and finally stands from his seat, making his way to his bed at the far end of the hotel room.

 

“We’ll get it figured out, but basically yes. We’ll follow their movements, steal what information we can when we can, and try and get the treasure first. That simple.” Taehyung explains and discards the tank top he’s wearing, leaving him bare to the air conditioned room. He curls up on the bed, pulling the fluffy comforter over himself and burying his face in the pillow.

 

“Goodnight assholes.”

 

He hears the scrape of a chair, the soft giggles of his best friend and hushed whispers from Yoongi as they head towards the bedroom. Taehyung pokes his head up from the fluffy comforter right as Jimin is being dragged into the bedroom, smirking as he yells again, “Goodnight whore!”

 

“Go to sleep klepto!” yells Yoongi.

 

He hears Jimin giggle, smirking when he hears his yell before the door is slammed to their room.

 

“Goodnight slut!”

 

_To deal in the supernatural_

_Is to make oneself_

_See what isn’t there_

_While dealing in reality_

_One see’s what one believes_

_Is only a fairytale_

  


Youngjae groans as he sits back in the chair, shoving a hand through his auburn hair as he sits in the surveillance van. The computers beep rhythmically, filling the small space with blips and flashes of neon light as Youngjae moves about, typing things into the computers and speaking in a hushed voice to the voice in his coms. There’s the pounding of footsteps, and he turns and lifts the glock sitting at the table and aims. The door slides open just as he flips the safety off and aims it at the newcomer, brows furrowing as he slowly lowers it once the streetlight illuminates their face. “Jackson what the fuck? Do you never listen to orders?”

 

Jackson smirks, shoving a hand through his dark hair as he slides the van door closed behind him. The light is dim when he flicks on the overheads, snatching the bag of chips that lay open next to one of the various computers around the van. He watches Youngjae with a careful eye, lips tilted at the edges and eats a few of the chips. They’re slightly stale, not as crunchy as they should be, but after going without food for several hours Jackson really doesn’t care as he munches on the snack. “Not really. You know this, babe. I’ve always been a bit of a rogue. You love it though.”

 

Jackson smirks at Youngjae as the man flushes a dark shade of red, making a sputtering noise as he tries to think of a retort on the fly. He leans in, pushing a chip into the mans mouth and chuckles when he closes his lips around his fingers, pulling them away as the other man mumbles around the chip in his mouth. There’s the flirty tension still hanging in the air, even if Youngjae tries to deny it, Jackson knows how the man feels about him.

 

Jackson’s a field agent. A jock in school, a complete muscle man through and through but with the brains of a desk jockey to match. Youngjae on the other hand, has always been the smart one. His brains are rivalled in Phoenix only by Jacksons, and together they make the perfect team for their organization. They take on tough cases, make sure no civilians get hurt and take care of threats should occasions- such as the one they’re on at the moment- arise. They share a brief smile, Youngjae trying not to laugh at the wince Jackson issues as result of the massive bruise to the side of his face and the cracks of his ribs. The other man was small, but he sure knew his weak points of a human body.

 

“You know you could have gotten seriously hurt, Jackson. The Queen of Spades isn’t one to be messed with. He could have killed you.” Youngjae moves closer via his swivel chair and his hands flutter over his sides, pressing gently to the areas where he’s most painful. When he finds a tender spot he digs his fingers into the area, brows furrowing in anger before he’s punching Jackson himself. He doesn’t exactly protest at the abuse from his partner.

 

“ _Pabo_ , you could have been killed. You need to be more careful.”

 

Jackson yelps and moves away, clutching at his side and hissing. He attempts to bat Youngjae away when he comes closer, fearing for his cracked ribs that he’ll be smacked again. “Let me look, idiot. Aish, you can really not be trusted. Phoenix isn’t going to be happy that you told them anything. I mean, it’s not like you said a whole lot, but you still interfered. Congrats. You may have fucked up the mission.”

 

Jackson is only half listening, busying himself with pulling the wire from under his shirt and placing it on the counter. Youngjae sighs, collecting the device and tucking it away into an unmarked box. Phoenix has been around for quite some time, keeping the peace where the government can’t. Jackson compared them to the Illuminati- a myth-  though everyone disagreed with that statement. (In Youngjae’s opinion he wasn’t exactly wrong.)

 

“Any particular reason you gave them my name, asshole?”

 

Jackson freezes from unbuckling his belt, tongue pressing against his cheek as a blush chases its way up his neck. He sets it down on the counter with a heavy clunk, moving closer to kneel in between Youngjae’s spread legs. “Awe, come on, Doll. Don’t be mad. You know I can’t give my name. They can look that shit up.” He’s not wrong, fingers trailing along Youngjae's thighs over the fabric of his jeans as he leans his head against the youngers chest. Jackson feels the sign rather than heard it as it rumbles through the others chest as long fingers card through his dark hair.  

 _‘We really do make a perfect team.’_ he thinks briefly as he relaxes into the other man and lets the stress and soreness from the day wash away with every pass of the man's fingers through his hair.

 

“You could have at least bugged them. Now how are we supposed to find them? They’re like ghosts.” Youngjae speaks quietly, typing away at the computer with one hand as his other continues to pet Jackson’s hair. He only pauses when he looks up at him, a dark brow lifting as an amused look paints across his face. “What?”

 

Jackson smirks and pulls the tracker from his pocket and hands the small cell-like device to Youngjae. “You act as if I didn’t do that.” the look on the youngers face as his mouth drops open slightly is enough to pull a laugh from Jackson, and he feels some more of the weight from the day slide off.

 

“Wow, I love you so much.”

 

Jackson snorts a laugh and nudges his head against Youngjae’s hand, humming happily when he resumes his ministrations through his dark locks and relaxes where he sits on the floor.

 

“I know, whore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! If you're still here congratulations! 
> 
> I know, whew, long chapter this time and they're only going to get longer.
> 
> This is an extremely complicated story, and writing it takes a lot out of me mentally and physically as it's a giant puzzle and one wrong slip up if I write when I'm tired will ruin the entire world I've worked so hard to build. I know updates take forever (literally it's been two months since I released this chapter) but the wait will be worth it I promise! Please bear with me on this incredible journey and let's see if you can figure out who the mysterious Ace is, hmm? 
> 
> Goodnight.
> 
> And good luck.
> 
> XOXO,  
> Bri

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to these wonderful people without whom this would not be possible! Like seriously, I owe a lot to these guys their love and support helped so much they the real MVP's.
> 
> For beta reading and editing! And obvious love and support duh  
> Mom @shadaphoenix for beta reading and going over this!  
> Saengie @seoksinful for helping with planning and ironing out problems  
> For a constant stream of love and support when I was panicking  
> Sam @biconmyg | Cloudy @Cloudy_Days_AO3 | Anna @xominiminixo | Kaity @purekth95 | Hyuna @galsaeg_piano | Alex @darkwitchyoongi | Miche @MicheBangtan | Lex @bon_voyag3 | And my best friend Lars who's super busy right now but has been hyping this up since I came up with the idea!
> 
> I think that's everyone?
> 
> If I missed you DM me and I'll add in the thanks!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Stay tuned ;)
> 
> ~The Sunshine Poet


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